


Who am I?

by ALCzysz17



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alayne is a created personality, Cunnilingus, Doggy Style, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Graphic Violence in last chapter, Identity Issues, Rape/Non-con elements in the final chapter, Sansa-centric, Secret Identity, Self-Harm, Slowly losing herself, Smut, Some angst, Violence, blowjob, jonsa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-05-17 22:52:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 47,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14840717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALCzysz17/pseuds/ALCzysz17
Summary: In the Vale, Sansa Stark assumes the identity of Alayne Stone, the bastard daughter of Petyr Baelish to hide herself from the Lannisters out for her blood. Slowly Alayne becomes more than a disguise for her, she becomes another part of her personality, allowing her control when Sansa cannot handle things. It only gets worse when Lord Commander, Jon Snow comes to the Vale for resources and men for the Wall. What will Sansa do when she fears Jon will find her out? What will she do when Alayne seems to find interest in the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch? And what will she do when the feelings become mutual for her as well?





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! So, I have been wanting to write a story about Sansa as Alayne in the Vale and Jon coming for one reason or another. I originally started writing this back in January and have fiddled around with it here and there and without much of a ending goal in mind. At first it was supposed to be a oneshot (very long smutty one), but then I started writing more and more and before I knew it I had 15,000 words and still many more to go, as such I have decided to break it down into a story that will be about 7 chapters, give or take. I have about four written thus far that need spell checking and such. I am very excited about this story because it explores a bit of Sansa producing the personality of Alayne as a defense against Petyr and her past, but Alayne ends up taking a life of her own and defying Sansa and doing what she wants and who she wants *wink, wink* I hope y'all will enjoy this!
> 
> *I have sort of stalled on chapter 4 of 'Time', mostly due to the fact that I have completely revamped the story again! I decided I wanted to explore things more with other POV's so there will be more Jon chapters including Arya and Robb! I generally know what I am doing though, so hopefully I can crank that chapter out in the following few days! Sorry for the wait! 
> 
> Onward to the story!! ^_~

 

 

She feels like she’s drowning, like every breath she takes causes her to sink further in the abyss. Every hitch, every gasp, every exhale; she sinks further and further. Like a rock tossed in a pond, she has no where else to go but down.

She drowns under the weight of her emotions, of her experiences, of her traumas. She can kick her legs, she can swing her arms, and she can keep desperately fighting against the weight that bears down upon her, but she’ll still continue to sink.

Who is she again? Who was she yesterday? Alayne Stone? Sansa Stark?

Was she Stark, or was she Lannister?

Was she Ned Stark’s trueborn daughter? Or, was she Petyr Baelish’s bastard born daughter?

Who am I?

A question she asked every morning in the mirror.

Do I really want to know?

That was the second question she would ask herself as she shied away from the reflection that greeted her in the mirror. A reflection she sometimes barely knew.

It was a constant fight inside her head, a battle between who she thought she was and who she has to become. Each day brought her no closer to an answer. If nothing else, she felt even more far removed from ever knowing the answer to her burning questions.

Littlefinger would know the answers, but he would not give them to her. He would answer each with a question of his own.

Was she Stark, or was she Lannister? She would ask.

He would counter, why be either? Why not be both?

Was she Ned Stark’s trueborn daughter, or Petyr Baelish’s bastard born daughter? Her next question would be.

He would inquire instead, what identity was easier to assume? A highborn Lady, trueborn Stark of Winterfell wanted for murder, or a lowborn girl, bastard born with the name Stone?

Who am I?

Who do you want to be? He would ask.

Do I really want to know?

Do you have a choice? He would answer.

Some days she would feel like Sansa Stark, she would feel her heart flutter when she heard a song or story she liked, or knew. The thought of dancing and singing would bring her bouts of joy and excitement, and thoughts of romance would flush her cheeks prettily.

Some days she felt like Alayne Stone, closed off and reserved, yet willing to run amuck and enjoy the day without a faultier in her step. She was no Lady.

And some days…some days she felt like no one at all.

She could blend into the wall and not a person would notice. Those days were when she drowned the most, the days when the war in her head was at its worst. She felt the most unstable on those days, and they were becoming more and more inevitable.

She couldn’t hide from it. How could one hide from one’s self?

Each night she went to bed and each day she woke brought the feelings of loss, confusion, and loneliness.

Did she want to be Sansa today, or maybe Alayne? Sometimes being no one was best. No hard questions, no figuring out who that person she was portraying was like. It was like putting on another skin, neither was all that comfortable and it was difficult to remember, or recall the small details that accompanied each skin.

Slowly, but surely, she was losing herself and she wasn’t sure what was worst, the fear and sadness that the thought brought her, or the lack of concern she did not feel for the situation at all…

 

\---------------------------------------------------------

 

She was Alayne the day he appeared.

Taller than the vague memory that silently pestered her brought forth. Broader in the shoulders, and dark hair covering his jaw and encircling his mouth. He had the long face of the Stark’s further up North, or so she figured.

Alayne had never met one to truly know.

Her mind was swimming though as he approached her and her father, Lord of the Vale. She felt like she knew his name, it was on the tip of her tongue, she could feel it! As he got closer she could make out his eye color better, a dark grey.

So familiar yet…

“Lord Commander Snow,” her father called him, greeting the younger lord who replied in kind with a deep, gravelly voice that made her stomach flutter. It was deeper than Harry’s voice, soothing in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

He was a ‘Snow’ though, a bastard like herself.

“Alayne Stone, my daughter,” her father announced to Lord Commander Snow. She stepped forward to greet the handsome lord. Amusement came over her as he looked at her so peculiarly, like he knew who she was though it was not possible.

Alayne had never been up North, nor far enough to see the Wall.

“Stone,” he mumbled, taking her hand to press a kiss on her knuckles that would have sent her swooning had she been that type of girl.

Sansa Stark would have, she supposed.

The touch of his plush lips was nice though and a blush came to her cheeks much to her annoyance. His forehead wrinkled as he looked up at her, his eyes begging for her to acknowledge something.

“Have we met?” he asked then stammered a, “before,” at the end.

Alayne smiled with a closed mouth, slowly bringing her hand out of his as she replied, “No, sir.”

He left with her father after that and she did not see him for the rest of the day…

 

\---------------------------------------------------------

 

She was Sansa the next day, her nerves bubbling uncomfortably inside her tummy as she paced around in her room.

Why was Jon here?! What was her half-brother doing here so far from the Wall?

She raked her mind to figure out the answer, but nothing came to her. She was having trouble remembering the previous day. It was always like that when she switched between Alayne and Sansa. The confusion, forgetfulness and headaches resulted.

She tended not to switch often, but Sansa wormed her way to the front, pushing Alayne behind.

Did he know it was her? Would her cover be blown? As Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch he couldn’t interfere in the politics of the Kingdom, meaning he couldn’t turn her in to the Lannisters.

Not that she thought he would.

But that also meant he couldn’t take her from here either.

A knock on her door brought her out of her crisis to answer it. Sweetrobin was asking for her, screaming really, down the hall. Maybe occupying the young lord would help to keep her wits about her?

Sansa spent much of the day playing with Sweetrobin, doing as his bid before escaping from him when he eyed her chest a little too long. The moment she was out of his sight her thoughts immediately went towards Jon. She nibbled on her bottom lip as she worried herself over the situation.

Littlefinger had to know, he had to be worried himself over Jon recognizing her. Maybe that was why she hadn’t seen him today?

No sooner had she thought it that the man appeared with Littlefinger in toll.

“Alayne,” Petyr called out, waving a hand for her to come to him. She sighed through her nose to keep her nerves soothed and approached the two.

Jon was staring at her, she felt like he did that yesterday too, but couldn’t bring up a memory of such a thing happening. Littlefinger instructed her to take ‘Lord Commander Snow’ to the godswood they had at the Eyrie, commenting it was a pitiful thing, but hopefully it would bring him prayer and peace for the weeks he would be spending there.

Sansa stuttered over the word, ‘weeks’.

He would be staying here for weeks? She thought vaguely as she spun on her heel to lead him down the hall.

True Jon fashion, he spoke not a word, only followed her lead. She wished Alayne fought harder, she was usually stronger than Sansa, more resilient in comparison. It would make being in Jon’s presence much easier.

He took longer strides than her, appearing along side her before too long as she led the way. Sansa kept her eyes in front of her, kept her sights on the destination where she could leave him and escape. Hide away and hope he would not bother her during his time here.

She could feel his eyes on her, burning a pathway all over the side of her face. Why had she worn her hair pulled back? She side-eyed him briefly, barely withholding a flinch when his eyes connected with hers.

“Are you sure we have not met?” Jon inquired quietly. He must have asked that question previously, she supposed.

“Most certainly,” she replied, taking a deep breath and holding it as they approached the door that would lead out into the godswood.

Jon stepped forward first, opening the door and holding it open for her with a thin looking smile on his face. Sansa slowly exhaled her held breath, dropping her eyes down to her feet with a tiny smile of thanks as she walked through first. She couldn’t help but gauge his reaction to the godswood here.

Littlefinger worded it just right, it was pitiful looking.

The expression on Jon’s face told her he thought much the same as he scanned the area before landing his eyes back on her.

“This is it?”

“Afraid so. The soil is too hard for a weirwood to take root, so yes, this is it.” Sansa tugged her eyes away to take in the snow softly falling to the ground.

It was beautiful.

“Do you need anything else, my lord?” she asked quickly, stepping back towards the stairs to make her escape.

He glanced around himself again then shook his head. She spun on her heel once more, taking the steps as smoothly as possible, not wanting him to see her run away. His eyes were still on her being as she left, still appraising her.

She needed to be Alayne while he was here.

It would be easier, simpler that way….

 

\---------------------------------------------------------

 

Harry was a shit swordsman.

Lord Commander Snow was showing him up shamelessly, she observed. Sweetrobin stood next to her, smiling from ear to ear as he took in the fighting below their balcony. Alayne was happy that he was preoccupied and entertained, the little lord could be extremely exhausting at times.

Her eyes tracked the two swinging blunted swords at each other. Harry carried himself to heavily, his swings taking too much effort. In the time that it took for him to swing his sword at the Lord Commander he was already being blocked, or dodged.

Jon Snow was a graceful fighter, he moved swiftly on his toes. His eyes were piercing as well, observing his opponent for their strengths and weaknesses. He didn’t taunt his opponent like Harry did, he didn’t talk at all, actually. Just focused his sights on the goal at hand.

It was no wonder a young man at his age became the 998th Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. He was shrewd in his judgements and calculating in his decisions.

He made Harry the Heir look like a child in comparison.

Alayne felt a smile tug at her lips as Harry took a particularly hard hit from the Lord Commander’s dulled sword, tumbling towards the ground harshly. Served him right for all his obnoxious taunts. Harry called an end to the practice, sweat dripping down his face as he was helped up by a fellow young lord.

Though he praised Lord Snow for his prowess with his sword, he said it in a condescending way with a snare on his lip and a glare in his eye. The Lord Commander looked unfazed, merely nodding his head and handing his sword off with a ‘thanks’.

Sweetrobin wanted to talk with the Lord Commander, grasping her hand to lead her down from the balcony towards him. Alayne nodded her head in greeting as the little lord talked excitedly to Lord Snow.

She regarded their guest quietly, allowing Sweetrobin to ask his questions though the Lord Commander’s eyes glanced up to her periodically as he spoke. Once he was done the little lord chased after Harry, wishing to speak with him as well.

Alayne wondered if she should follow or not. She didn’t particularly want to speak with Harry, he was rather rude to her the other day and she was still smarting over the comment he carelessly handed out to her. She knew her father wanted her to work some charm on the young lord, but it was hard to do so when he barely gave her the time of day.

The curses of being a bastard.

Her eyes peered over to Lord Snow, noting he must have felt a lot of what she did, being as he was a bastard as well.

“You fought well, Lord Commander,” she commented lightly, clasping her hands together. She decided it would be a bad idea to approach Harry right now, judging by the hard edge in his eyes still as he spoke to Sweetrobin.

“Thank you, my Lady,” he mumbled back, turning his eyes upon her. She smiled with a shake of her head.

“Oh, no sir, I’m not a Lady.” He frowned at her reply. “Alayne, will do,” she added a moment later.

“Then Jon, will do,” he echoed back to her. She couldn’t help a bigger smile coming to her lips. He was a strange lord, possibly because he was used to being overlooked as a bastard for most of his life.

“Alright, Jon.” His lips tugged at the corner of his mouth into a semi-smile. He looked as though he didn’t smile often, like he forgot how to.

There was a faint nostalgia rippling beneath her skin, like she had known that feeling once before. That made no sense though, Alayne had never had a true reason to not smile often. Maybe it was Sansa who didn’t smile often anymore, who was forgetting how to.

A throbbing headache erupted into her temple.

“You look like someone I use to know,” the Lord Commander-Jon said in a weak voice. She looked up to him to see the tension in his face, the unease of his words as he gazed upon her.

A shiver ran down her spine.

“Do I?” she asked, her tone light in hopes of easing his anxiety. “Who?”

Jon swallowed hard, glanced down at his feet before shaking his head as though shaking the mere thought out of his mind. Alayne moved her hand without a single thought as to what she was doing, settling it gently on his arm to draw his attention onto her. “Who?” she repeated more softly, blinking her eyes slowly, innocently.

“Just…just a girl I knew from my childhood,” Jon finally said, giving a one shoulder shrug. Her heart gave a painful thump at his declaration, it hurt that he didn’t state exactly who she reminded him of.

Unfortunately, she had no idea why either…

“Perhaps you will see her again,” she sympathized, removing her hand from his arm. Tingles of pleasure ran through her fingers and palm as she closed her hand and brought it to her side.

Jon gave a half-hearted smile, he looked completely unconvinced of that. “Perhaps,” he mumbled though, glancing down at her feet briefly then he bid his goodbye and left her there.

She watched him walk away, a sense of longing came over her. Strange. Alayne bit the inside of her cheek to keep from calling out to Jon, for what, she hadn’t a clue, but the urge was still there. Movement distracted her to see Harry and Sweetrobin heading her way.

Time to turn on the charm…

 

\---------------------------------------------------------

 

Alayne disliked dancing, disliked the consistent movements and choreography that one must know in order to partake. She was none too good at it, nor had she been taught beforehand. Father was much too busy to teach her, and she was too embarrassed to ask anyone else here. Instead she sat at the table by her father during the feast.

Lord Commander Jon Snow sat on his other side, quiet as ever and mulling over the proceedings with a cup of wine in his hand. He hadn’t spoken to her much during his first week here, he mainly discussed business with her father, talked among the other lords that littered the halls and sometimes interacted with Sweetrobin as well.

The little lord seemed quite taken with the Lord Commander, seemingly idolizing him since he arrived. He seemed none too bothered by the fact Jon was a bastard, his title outweighing his original status in the little lord’s eyes. Alayne thought it was sweet, even more so when she found it rubbed Harry the Heir the wrong way.

Currently Harry was dancing his way through the many women vying for his attention. Technically she should be down there too, hoping to get a dance in with the young lord, but she’d much rather be up here. Harry tended to get quite handsy, she noted as her eyes zeroed in his hand drifting lower on Myranda Royce’s waist. Disgust made her wrinkle her nose.

“You should go dance, Alayne,” her father insisted with an edge of sternness in his tone. She looked up to him to see the hardness in his eyes as he bore his unblinking stare down at her.

It was unsettling.

“I don’t feel much like dancing,” Alayne answered, feigning exhaustion by yawning behind her hand. She didn’t want to entertain Harry the Handsy at the moment, or if she were to be honest, at all.

“Mayhaps Lord Snow will accompany you?” her father inquired almost deviously, at least as she could see. There was a slyness in his eyes now as he drifted them over to Jon who looked startled by being drawn into the conversation.

He quickly swallowed some wine then coughed into his hand. “Sorry to say, but I am not very good at dancing,” Jon stated tightly, clearly not wanting to dance as much as she didn’t.

Yet something in her wanted him too, wanted him to dance with her; specifically.

“I think I may be up for one dance, if it is with the Lord Commander,” she suggested impishly, leaning around her father to gaze into Jon’s eyes. He blinked slowly at her, his cheeks flushing as he looked away.

Was that from the wine? Or was that from her?

“I don’t think-Please, only one dance,” she pleaded as she cut him off, batting her long lashes at him like she was taught from her father.

“Oh, come Lord Snow, my daughter is only asking for one dance.”

That seemed to be the nail in the coffin for him. Jon gave a curt nod, gulp down another hard swallow of wine before pushing back from the table to stand. Alayne held back her smirk as she too stood. She startled him when she grasped his arm, stumbling for second before he corrected himself.

Alayne couldn’t help but laugh.

“Do I make you nervous, Lord Snow?” Her question brought about a frown to his lips, his nose scrunching indignantly.

“I assure you, my Lady, that you do not make me nervous,” he said smoothly though a hint of anxiousness was there in the worrying lines on his forehead and around his eyes.

Once they got to the center of the dance floor she turned to him, releasing his arm to step up into his space. Jon looked edgy, glancing around at the rest of lords and ladies dancing cheerfully. Alayne sighed softly, reaching down to grasp both of his hands, setting each in position on her waist and hand while she settled her other hand on his shoulder.

“Are you sure you’re not nervous?” Alayne asked cheekily, amusement dancing in her eyes. He looked as though he may protest, but then reluctance appeared in his grey eyes and defeat.

“I am not sure how to proceed,” Jon admitted.

She squeezed the hand within her grip and gave him a reassuring smile.

“Follow my lead then, hopefully you can pick up fast and soon I will be following your lead.”

She led them around the room, narrowly avoiding his booted foot landing on her own a few times before Jon seemed confident enough to take the lead. He grasped the concept quickly, she noted that he should considering his footwork with swordplay. He was so graceful with a sword in his hand, he should also be just as graceful with a lady in his hand as well.

Jon proved to be a quick study, seeming to outshine the other lords around them as he spun her around the floor. Alayne disliked dancing, she wasn’t very good at it, or at least she thought she wasn’t. Yet, with Jon holding her waist and hand she seemed to flourish like a flower finally blooming. A true smile fluttered to her lips, a light laugh leaving her throat as she thoroughly enjoyed herself.

For his part, Jon seemed to enjoy the dancing as well. His face lightened up more, he had a small smile on his lips though it was closed mouth, and best of all, his eyes were only on her.

That was something she wasn’t use too.

Harry never truly looked at only her, she knew her base born nature was the main reason for it, but she also never truly wanted his full attention like her father wanted. Jon though, she was coming to realize she wanted his attention only on her, no one else but her. The song ended, but immediately another started and so they continued their dance into a second round and then into a third.

Alayne helped Jon transition into a slower dance, stepping closer to him as the music slowed and the other dancers along with it. He swallowed hard at her instep, giving her waist an unintentional squeeze from nerves as he led her in a slow circle.

“You have proven to be a quick study, Lord Commander,” Alayne stated cheekily, staring brightly into his dark grey eyes. Jon gave her hand a squeeze that she returned easily, she liked the way he touched her, so soft and hesitant, so unsure of himself. It was refreshing.

“It helps that I have a good teacher, my lady,” he replied quietly, giving her a brief smile as he led her pass Harry and some other woman he was placing his hands lowly on. Alayne barely glanced at him, but she noticed his eyes were on them, watching as they moved along the dance floor.

“I would have thought as a son of Lord Stark that you would be well versed in dancing, among other courtships.” Jon’s mouth leveled into a frown. She realized what she had said a moment later, her face scrunching as Alayne berated herself for her thoughtlessness. “I’m sorry, I sometimes speak without thinking.”

“No, it’s alright. My…my father had all of us learn, but I never took dancing so easily and I usually hid away to keep from being forced to learn. Truly, there was never any need for me to know otherwise.” Alayne nodded. Being Eddard Stark’s bastard meant he wouldn’t inherit anything of value from his father, it made sense he would run off to take the black and become apart of the Night’s Watch.

A noble endeavor though if memory served her right then the Wall was full of rapers, criminals and outcasts from other noble families and houses. Alayne wondered had the Wall accepted women if she would have ended up there instead of coming to her Lord Father, being as an outcast as she is though her father was trying his best to make her into a Lady, she felt otherwise. Sansa Stark was the lady, not Alayne Stone.

“Would you not need to know as Lord Commander?” she asked further, wishing to know more about the young Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. Alayne found him far more intriguing and deserving of her time and attention than Harry.

“My life at the Wall does not deal in many banquets and feasts, so no, it would be unessential for me to know how to dance,” Jon said with a shrug as they tapered off in their slow dance, coming to a halt at the edge of the dance floor. “Not many women to take up on the offers,” he added with a tight smile.

“Oh? And here I was thinking you would take up some young, strapping ranger for a round or two in your feasting hall,” Alayne jokingly commented, gaining a snort of amusement from Jon. Slowly his hands drifted from her waist and hand, coming to rest by his sides. She felt empty without him standing so close and holding her body, she wished they could continue to dance, maybe then Alayne would like the prospect of dancing more.

“Aye, my squire is a pretty man, but I find having a woman in my hands better…” Jon drifted off, confidence dwindling away as he became aware of himself. Alayne smiled at his awkwardness, he was so much more enduring than Harry.

She gave him another of her dazzling smiles then leaned up to press a kiss to Jon’s cheek, feeling his shudder at her soft touch before she pulled back, “Thank you for the dance, Jon.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as you can see, they are working together nicely, but Sansa cannot remember what Alayne does and vice versa which will make for some awkward situations in Sansa's case soon enough. Alayne has taken a liking to Jon and has shown her dislike of Harry. I had this first chapter finished forever and then suddenly four days ago my mind exploded all over this story and produced the next three chapters in six hours all varying of 3,000 words and more. 
> 
> I'm hoping to have the next chapter update in a few days after some editing and hopefully crank out the rest soon after! Hope y'all enjoyed and let me know whatcha think!? ^_~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Another chapter in four days!! I'm sure y'all anticipated that considering it was already done. I finished the edits and ended up adding 2,000 more words with the beginning section starting with Alayne. The thought came to me last night as I was trying to fall asleep for work the next day, so I quickly wrote and added it and I hope y'all will enjoy the new addition cause I definitely enjoyed writing it! 
> 
> *In other news, I have another story lined up that will be much like this (mostly finished) though I intend to finish it before posting. I am working slowly through 'Traveling the Middle Ground' and forcing myself to complete the final chapter for 'My Cousin Sansa' and I am smutty oneshot coming soon as well! Keep them eyes peeled for more from me! 
> 
> Enjoy!! ^_~

 

 

Alayne watched from the balcony, arms crossed over the railing with her chin dropped into her hand thoughtfully. Jon was training with some of the younger lords again, less one-on-one combat like with Harry the other week. The other lords knew how good Jon was, how easily he could best them all. Alayne knew it was because he probably had actually experience wielding a sword against an enemy than the pampered, lordlings that resided in the Eyrie. He was a man among boys in that respect.

Jon was training against a straw dummy, armored with a protective chest plate and helmet that created loud dings and dungs when slashed and struck by the dull sword in his hand. She could see a few lords watching Jon and changing their stances and movements to mimic him in hopes of possessing even a fraction of his ability. It made Alayne want to laugh at them, high-borns were always out to look better than the rest, always trying to impress and out due one another.

Yet Jon ignored them, focused solely on his swordsmanship and improving his already impressive ability. Harry was probably the only one who was not trying to imitate the Lord Commander though he was glancing over every few hits as though assessing Jon’s ability and his own, to figure out what he lacked and needed to gain. It surprised Alayne since she didn’t think he possessed that capability to realize his weaknesses and fix them, but then that was probably her being cynical when it came to Harry as a whole.

Her father was pestering her endlessly to interact with the young lord, to impress him with her wit, entrance him with her figure and ensnarl him into a proposal. She did try though, it wasn’t as though she hadn’t, but it was just…something (someone) else that seemed to preoccupy her mind as of late. She gave a cursory look over on Harry before drawing her eyes back to Jon, comparing and contrasting their looks.

Where Harry was light, Jon was dark. Harry’s sandy hair was dim looking in the dreary lighting out in the courtyard, but it was still extremely light when compared to Jon’s dark, curly locks that fell into his face. Harry’s eyes were a deep blue, darker than her own while Jon’s were the dark grey of stormy weather, the warning before a bad snowstorm. They seemed to have an even stature, both broad shouldered and muscular. Their voices were different as well. Jon had a deep northern accent, his voice lower and somewhat commanding while Harry’s voice was lighter, graceful even and cool to Jon’s warmth. Even the way they reacted and engaged were so different from one another. Harry was seemingly the perfect gentleman, courteous and suave with a dimpled smile that made all the ladies swoon. Yet there was Jon with his solemn expressions, flatlined mouth and practical personality. He was charming in his practicality and modesty, showing a shrewdness that Harry lacked. No two men could be so wholly opposite and different as they were.

Alayne swallowed drily, her nails digging into her chin as she kept her gaze upon Jon. They had been going at it for nearly an hour, many of the lords stopping to rest or leaving to bath and change, but not Jon. He kept going, swinging and slashing, sidestepping and stepping inward. Harry seemed to try and keep up with him, but even he started to slow and eventually stop.

Jon only stopped when Harry came over to him, saying a few words though she couldn’t clearly hear exactly what then he was off as the rest, leaving Jon to his training and Alayne to her observing. She watched him for a bit longer before walking over to the steps and down from the balcony to greet him.

Alayne approached him slowly, not wanting to be on the receiving end of his swing as she greeted him, “Hello, Lord Commander, I see you have out-trained the other lords.” Jon stopped after finishing his swing, turning his attention on her as he breathed deeply in and out.

“Aye, I see that as well,” Jon commented with barely a glance around, clearly, he was unamused by the lack of commitment the other lords had.

“This is normally when they stop for the day, but I take it that it’s not the same at the Wall?” Alayne inquired curiously, bracing her hands behind her back as she strolled closer. She could see the sweat slowly rolling down his face, one, in particular, traveled down his cheek, over towards his jawline to disappear in his beard. It was so very cool out, yet she felt blistering hot suddenly.

“No, we train for at least two hours a day and that is after other chores like mucking the stalls.” Alayne wrinkled her nose at the thought as Jon snorted his agreement, cracking a brief smile her way. Though brief as it was, his smile made her heart race and warmth to erupt through her belly towards her limbs, it was then a thought came to her.

“Could you teach me?” she asked lightly, stopping a foot in front of him as he arched an eyebrow in confusion.

“Teach you?” he asked before his eyes widened when she glanced between the sword in his hand and back to his face a few times. “Teach you to fight?”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but to handle a sword, yes.” Alayne drew her chin inward while drawing her eyes up with a flutter of her lashes in a look of pure innocence as she asked, “Could you teach me, Lord Commander?”

Jon swallowed thickly at the look, his face immediately flushing before he was averting his eyes from her. She had practiced that trick in the mirror for many hours for perfection and he was the first to be shown it. A most successful trick, father would be proud, she thought though the idea disgusted her as well. Seeing his hesitation still she quickly added, “It would be like a trade. I taught you to dance and you teach me to handle a sword.”

“I don’t know, my lady,” Jon started, this time eyeing his sword then roving his gaze over her body, bringing forth a blush of her own though he wasn’t looking at her like she had at him. “It would not be appropriate of me.”

“Really? Have you forgotten I’m a bastard, Jon,” she stated boldly, giving him a smirk when he gaped at her.

“No, I have not forgotten.”

“Good, so it should not matter if you teach me as I am not high-born thus this interaction is not as inappropriate as you seem to think it.” She could tell Jon wasn’t totally convinced and she didn’t blame him, regardless of her birth, this interaction was inappropriate. Alayne just didn’t care. “Please,” she finally said softly, taking another step closer.

“O-Only a little bit,” Jon said firmly, his throat bobbing as he took a step back from her. She knew she made him nervous, that mere fact only made this whole situation that much more interesting and appealing. He gave a cough, clearing his throat then smoothly flipped his sword around, away from her body to present her the handle. “Have you ever held a sword before?”

No, Alayne thought as she reached for it with both hands, not her but…

A sting of pain shot through between her eyes, forcing her to clench them shut as a brief memory of her just barely holding a sword with the tip braced heavily onto the ground. No, it wasn’t Alayne, it was Sansa, she was the one holding the sword and it wasn’t just any sword, it was her lord father’s sword; ice. She could see the prideful smile on his face as he gazed down at her, could even feel her own answering smile back…

“Alayne? Are you okay?”

She blinked repeatedly as her vision came back to her. Jon was standing closer to her with a hand lightly touching her shoulder as he kept a hold of the sword’s hilt though she still had her hands enclosed around it. The stinging slowly went away, but the thought of it coming back kept her from thinking too hard.

“Yes, I’m fine, a bit of a headache is all,” Alayne stated quickly, adding, “and no, I have never held a sword in my life.” Jon watched her carefully, eyeing her over to be sure of her health, that only made her heart beat faster.

“Alright, be careful though, it is not light.” That happened to be a rather big understatement. She could barely lift the sword two feet off the ground. It was much heavier than she had anticipated especially with how easily Jon swung it around as though it were light as a feather. “Easy now, use your arms together and hold the hilt tightly. Don’t have both hands gripping together, move one up.”

Once she followed his instruction, she found it was easier to hold the sword though it still weighed heavily upon her. Her muscles were straining to keep the weapon above her hips. She hadn’t thought she was this weak, it was utterly pathetic and rubbed at her pride. “Are swords normally this heavy?”

“Only the shit ones,” Jon mumbled then flinched, “sorry for my language, my lady.”

“Oh, don’t start that, you know as well as I do that no one holds their tongue around us bastards. I am far more use to it than you would think,” Alayne commented sternly, managing to lift the sword higher as she moved her feet accordingly, mimicking Jon’s stance. He gave her an approving nod as she did it.

“I see you have been observing our training sessions closer than I thought.” His comment helped to lift her wounded pride.

“Come on now, help me swing it at the dummy so I can put it down.” Jon huffed out a chuckle, shaking his head at her demanding attitude though his usually flatlined lips were curving upwards in the corners of his mouth.

Without warning, Jon stepped up behind her, moving his arms around to grip the hilt of the sword, lifting it much higher than she had been able too. Alayne shuddered at the heat encompassing her back though there was clearly space between their bodies, oh how she wished to eliminate it. Jon helped her to lift the sword up, instructing her along the way on how she should hold her body and distribute her weight before he directed a downward swing of the sword, colliding it with the metal chest plate on the dummy and ringing out a tinny noise that echoed around them.

During the swing forward, Jon stepped closer, leaning into her body where she felt his chest pressed tenderly against her back. The sense of security and warmth left her a bit puzzled yet overall aching in a way she had never felt before. She quickly begged to do another with him then another and please just once more, so she could keep his arms wrapped around her body and his chest cozily pressed to her back. By the end her arms were swore and throbbing fiercely while the rest of her felt like she was floating on a warm, fluffy cloud.

“You did well, with much, much more practice you could easily swing the sword yourself,” Jon observed kindly, his eyes crinkled a little in the corners as he gave her a soft, closed mouth smile, yet another to steal her breath away.

“Thank you for your kind words, sir, but truly it was you who did most of the work.” He shook his head in disagreement and her arms disagreed as well with the way they throbbed.

“I only helped and you’re a fast learner, before you know it you could be doing that on your own.”

“It’s not as fun on my own though,” she quipped cheekily, impish smile in place when he dropped his head down with a shake as his shoulders slightly shook.

“Aye,” he announced, lifting his head to gaze at her, “you might be right about that.”

Alayne opened her mouth to tease Jon some more, liking how loosened his tongue was becoming with her, how relaxed he was becoming when she heard her name called out loudly. They both turned to see Sweetrobin at the door of the balcony, still dressed in his sleeping robe and an uneasy maid beside him as he screamed out for her to come and play with him. She sighed deeply, her shoulders dropping as it seemed her fun had come to an end.

“I guess I am needed elsewhere, until next time, Jon.” Alayne curtsied prettily for him, looking up to see his expression only to see this lost, wistful look on his face. His brows wrinkled inward as he stared at her intensely. Abruptly she stood up, brushing her skirts as Jon looked at her in such a peculiar way.

“Yes…until next time,” he mumbled absentmindedly, reaching up to brush his hand over his mouth and beard as she spun on her heel to leave him.

A strange sense of fear gripped at her heart as she reached the steps. With each step up she started realizing more and more of her mistake. She curtsied for him, something she had never done before, but something Sansa Stark was known for perfecting. It was not hard to believe that he might recognize the movement and grace, Sansa had probably practiced and performed that curtsy numerous upon numerous times back in Winterfell. Alayne berated herself for her stupidity, what an incredibly thoughtless mistake.

Swiftly, she glanced over her shoulder to see if Jon was still staring, but he wasn’t. He was back to his training, huffing and puffing in the cold air while he swung the sword towards the dummy. He seemed to have put it behind him as should she. Alayne just needed to keep her wit about her and not do anything else that only Sansa Stark would know or do…

 

\---------------------------------------------------------

 

Sansa was suffering a splitting headache and strangely her arms ached in a way she had never felt before. Sweetrobin was becoming a handful at the moment, whining about wanting to play with Jon instead of her. She couldn’t bring up any memories of Jon playing with her little cousin, but Alayne had been taking over more and more recently. She worried what her other self was doing while she was in control, worried at the trouble Alayne might have caused.

It had been easier to allow Alayne control while Jon was here, less likely to slip up and allow him to realize that she reminded him of his sister because she was his sister. That didn’t mean Sansa totally trusted Alayne either. Alayne was wild and carefree, she was obedient when she needed to be, but otherwise did as she saw fit and that bugged Sansa to no end. If she wasn’t careful then everything could be ruined.

But didn’t half of her want that though?

Sansa rubbed her forehead, trying to ease the throbbing. Half of her wanted Jon to know, wanted him to whisk her away from here, but where could they go? Home was taken over by the Bolton’s and Jon was Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch thus he could not help her anyhow. It was wishful thinking, childish dreams that would never come true and she needed to grow up and get over it.

If everything went according to plan, then she will marry Harry Hardyng as Sansa Stark, revealing her true identity then with him and the army of the Vale they can march forth to Winterfell and take it back from the Bolton’s. And if everything truly went according to Littlefinger’s plan then Harry will undoubtedly fall victim to sickness or die during the attack via friendly fire and Petyr Baelish will come forth and claim Sansa once and for all.

Sansa didn’t much like the first plan and even less of the second plan. She didn’t want to marry Harry Hardyng, nor did she want to marry Petyr Baelish either. Even still, she couldn’t marry until Tyrion Lannister was reported dead, or if Littlefinger could somehow convince the High Septon to dissolve her marriage to Tyrion then they could do nothing in the meantime. She hoped upon hope that something would happen before it came to that. It wasn’t hard to notice that Littlefinger was getting antsy upon waiting.

The kisses and touches he forced upon her were becoming more frequent as the days wore on and it was only a matter of time before he did something more. Sansa shuddered to think of him touching her further, forcing himself upon her and taking her maidenhead for himself. He was selfish enough to do it and make her lie when her marriage to Harry finally comes to fruition.

I’d rather die, Sansa thought darkly as she stepped out of Sweetrobin’s chambers while he took a nap. She wondered if she should take one as well to reduce the pounding in her head when she came across Myranda talking to someone.

Upon closer inspection, Sansa found it was Jon whom her friend was speaking to. Myranda was smiling seductively at him, reaching up and touching his arm in such a way that caused Jon to stammer his response to her question and step back from her. She didn’t like seeing her friend be like that with her brother.

Myranda very much reminded her of Margaery, always trying to get a step ahead of everyone and only looking out for her own interests. Though Margaery seemed genuine in her friendship with Sansa, she couldn’t feel the same with Myranda. She was a nice friend to have, but one Sansa had to watch her tongue with and even Alayne did not trust her any more than she could throw her. Seeing how uncomfortable Jon looked, Sansa quickly stepped forward, pushing down her own anxiety as she approached them.

“Lord Commander, how are you?” Sansa asked brightly, hoping she sounded more like Alayne than herself. Jon and Myranda turned towards her with very different reactions. Jon looked somewhat relieved to see her while Myranda looked mildly aggravated by her entrance.

“Well, and you, my lady?” Jon enquired courteously.

“I have a bit of a headache, actually. I think maybe a stroll through the godswood will help, won’t you accompany me?” Jon was slow on the uptake of answering before he nodded then turned to apologize about his abrupt departure to Myranda whom was giving her quite the evil eye.

“Myranda,” Sansa greeted, still smiling. Her friend gave her a stiff smile in return.

“Alayne,” she greeted, glancing between Jon as he walked over to Sansa then Sansa herself. “Have a nice stroll.”

Jon offered his arm once he came beside her and Sansa almost told him it was alright. She swallowed her words though, slowly sliding her hand around the crook of his elbow as they proceeded to leave down the hall towards the godswood just like that second day a fortnight ago.

“Thank you,” Jon mumbled softly. Sansa glanced up to see his solemn face, staring straight ahead as though he feared to look at her.

“You’re welcome. Myranda can be very…forward,” she commented with a shrug. Forward was an understatement, she could be downright vicious when she was interested in someone. Sansa had no idea why her friend had interest in her brother considering he couldn’t take any wives as Lord Commander, but she didn’t particularly want to find out either.

“Aye, forward she is, though she was asking about you than myself.” She stopped walking abruptly upon hearing his words, halting his movements while lifting her gaze up to catch his eyes.

“What do you mean?” Sansa asked in confusion. Why would Myranda ask about her to Jon? Did she know who Sansa really was?! No, that couldn’t possibly be it. Her and Jon looked nothing alike even with her darken hair and Littlefinger was so careful about keeping her identity so closely guarded.

“Well, she wished to know how well we knew each other…among other questions…” Jon flushed lightly underneath his beard, averting his eyes towards the wall on his right rather than her gaze. Sansa could only assume what Myranda was asking by the way her brother reacted. A lick of anger flashed in her gut as her grip on his elbow tightened for a moment.

“Excuse Myranda, she doesn’t know how to mind her tongue in the least. She’s a bit of a gossip too,” Sansa bitingly stated, tugging Jon along to the godswood as her head started to throb once more.

“Is she not your friend?”

“Oh yes, she is, but…” Sansa pursed her lips as she thought of how to say that she was her friend, but not that closely of a friend? She allowed Jon to open the door out into the godswood where very little sunlight filtered through the dark clouds overhead.

As she squinted her eyes up to the sky, Jon said, “Aye, I know the kind of friend she is then.”

“Yes, I suppose you might,” she murmured as they walked down the steps. “Let’s just say that if she had to stab me in the back to get what she wanted then she would.”

“I know friends like that,” Jon agreed evenly, his tone darken by their conversation and no doubt the memories it brought up for him.

“Aside from that she is quite entertaining, her loosen tongue makes for interesting conversations and she quite enjoys making Lords uncomfortable.” Jon coughed out a laugh, nodding his head. He led her around the small godswood where there was very little to look at within the enclosed area that was surrounded by the walls of the Eyrie. “Tell me about life at the Wall?”

Jon frowned lightly, his thinking face, Sansa thought with a rush of nostalgia washing over her. It was the same face her father got when he was thinking too. Her heart thumped heavily inside her chest, aching with each beat as she thought about Ned Stark. He would be so proud of where Jon was in life, how well he got along at the Wall and such. Would he be proud of me though? Sansa thought sadly, would he be proud of the ruses and charades she played on the daily to survive? Or would he be disappointed by her, how easily she had been fooled more than once and how easily she was a pawn in everyone’s games?

“It’s not easy living at the Wall. Its so cold that you forget what it is like to be warm anymore. The men are dirty, both mouth and body, and everyday is full of hardship be it training, or fixing up the Wall, mucking the stalls. Then there are the times we go beyond the Wall, fighting with the wildlings to keep them from attacking the Wall or by passing it and attacking the innocent smallfolk nearby.”

“It sounds hard, but it must be worthwhile. The men of the Night’s Watch are considered the Black Knight’s of the Wall, or at least in the songs they are,” Sansa stated lightly, remembering her first encounter with a man of the Night’s Watch that wasn’t her Uncle Benjen in King’s Landing. He was dirty, old and possibly lice-invested. She remembered feeling awful for Jon, if that was how many of the men looked, how fooled they both were of what it was to be a man of the Watch.

“It is, hard, but it also is worthwhile. I would have nothing else otherwise, no where else to go…” Sansa felt her eyes water at his sorrowful words. A glance at his face showed the brooding, solemn expression he usually wore, but it was in his eyes that she noticed the most. It was in his eyes that she could see how conflicted he felt with his life.

She knew those eyes because they looked right back at her in the mirror each morning and every night.

“Do you ever wish you could change things? Go back and stop yourself,” Sansa said wistfully, thinking back on the days of old back in Winterfell, her parents, her siblings, everyone would still be alive with them and things would be happy as they use to be. Jon paused in his steps, pulling her to a stop as he seemed to briefly stop breathing with his eyes closed tightly. “Jon?”

“There is not a day that goes by that I don’t wonder what would have changed if I did not take the black,” Jon said deeply, clenching his eyes shut tighter as though trying to will his pain away before opening them to connect his darken eyes to hers, stealing her breath away from the depths of them. “But I cannot spend my life wondering and wishing, I must contend with my present to have a better future and forget my past.” He reached up to place his hand over top of hers, giving a squeeze of pressure before stepping back from Sansa entirely.

“But mustn’t you contend with your past choices to not make the same mistakes in the future?” Sansa asked with a dryness in her throat and tightness in her chest. She knew her eyes were watery as she gazed at him, at the way his shoulders were slumped and the sorrow within his features. How could the man she always considered half-brother, the man she was most distant with in her childhood somehow be so much like her now?

Was it because of their past mistakes that seemed to make them so similar now? Were they always similar, but hadn’t known it because of the distance between them? If Sansa truly thought about it, she could remember a time that she and Jon out of all the others were more excited to hear Old Nan’s stories. Sometimes they would unconsciously fight to sit closest to her as she read her stories to them, usually Sansa won because Jon would never force her otherwise. Maybe they were more similar than either of them realized back then, maybe not, but right now Sansa felt like she was staring into his soul, truly seeing him for the first time and seeing herself reflected back.

Seeing the pain, he must have felt and suffered as the bastard of Eddard Stark. Being a bastard in the Eyrie as Alayne Stone had its ups and downs, but Littlefinger was not renowned for his honor as her true father was, so no one truly looked down upon her here. Yet she could remember times when Jon would be shown nothing but scorn from other Lord’s and their sons, times when he stayed outside in the courtyard, beating up straw dummies as they feasted and danced. Sansa felt another painful ache in her heart, but it wasn’t for her pain, it was for Jon’s.

“Aye, sometimes that is easier said than done, I’m afraid. If you will excuse me, my lady, I have work to do.” Jon bowed his head to hide the sorrowful tension in his face before turning away from her, walking briskly as though he were trying to escape her.

No, not her in particular, but the emotions she brought of out him.

“Alayne,” Sansa called out, stalling his retreat. He peered over his shoulder at her. “Alayne, Jon.”

“Aye, Alayne.”

 

\---------------------------------------------------------

 

Father had to leave a week earlier, stating along the lines of needing to quell some issues with the mountain clans and his other bannermen at the bases of the mountain. Sweetrobin was not happy, especially as his nameday was coming up then. Father appeased the little Lord with a gift, something Alayne barely paid mind to as he left with the toy in hand. Petyr approached her with a weasel like smile, reaching up to stroke her cheek.

“I won’t be gone long, but I will miss Lord Robert’s nameday feast. I expect you can handle the arrangements, sweetling?” Alayne nodded, holding her breath as he leaned forward to press his lips against hers. Her stomach gurgled uncomfortably as she mimicked his movements before turning away when she felt his tongue touch her lips.

Her father merely chuckled, pulling her into an embrace while sweeping his hand up and down her back. “I won’t be gone long, possibly only a week or two at the most.”

Alayne was grateful to see him off, standing beside Sweetrobin as they watched Petyr leave with some knights at his back. She glanced over to see Jon standing nearby, watching as well before his eyes connected with hers. She delivered him a smile but only received a grimace before he turned to leave the hall.

Whatever Sansa said to him the other day it kept him at bay with her. He would greet her courteously but otherwise would find something to occupy his time or found some reason to not be alone with her. Alayne knew she made him nervous despite his best efforts to state otherwise, but whatever was said between Sansa and Jon was putting a strain on her friendship with him and that bothered her terribly.

Alayne occupied her time as well though, setting up the arrangements for Sweetrobin’s nameday feast, making sure that all his favorite foods were made for the occasion and that many Lords not currently staying in the Eyrie were invited to not slight anyone. It would be the little Lord’s tenth nameday, and a very special occasion considering no one believed he would make it to that age at all.

As she reiterated what foods should be made, Alayne couldn’t help by adding lemon cakes in the mix. Sansa loved lemon cakes, Alayne was rather indifferent towards them, but something told her to add them regardless. Once that was done, she went to her writing desk in her chambers to write a personal invite for Jon. Technically, she should probably be writing one for Harry to entice him towards her, but she didn’t much feel like enduring his presence. That was probably the one thing she could agree on with Sansa, that Harry was an ass with a pretty face and so much more left to be desired.

She used every ounce of Sansa’s elegant handwriting for the invite, smiling as she read over it before folding the paper over and writing Jon’s name on one side. Alayne didn’t know if she was going to hand it to him or leave it within his chambers, but she knew which one she hoped for. First, she went to his chambers only to find him no where near. She should just place it on his writing desk, he’d see it after supper, she was sure, but she wanted to see the Lord Commander so badly. With him seemingly avoiding her, she hadn’t gotten to interact with him much.

It was all Sansa Stark’s fault. Nothing good ever comes from letting her in control, she tends to ruin everything, all of Alayne’s hard work wasted because of a blunder or her over-emotional feelings. With a sigh she walked out of Jon’s chambers, invite still in hand as she searched him out. It didn’t take long before she found him in the place she least expected him to be.

“What did you do for your tenth nameday?” Robert asked as Jon directed him on how to use the small wooden sword in his hand. It wasn’t heavy though the little Lord’s weaken arms still struggled to hold it up.

“I don’t quite remember, my Lord. I am sure I ate tons of cake though, maybe ran around with my brothers and sister too,” Jon answered as he showed Sweetrobin how to hold the wooden sword.

“I thought you had two sisters, my cousins Sansa and Arya.” Jon paused in his movements before continuing as though he hadn’t faltered at all.

“Aye, I do, but Sansa never really ran around with us…she liked sewing best and she was real good at it too.” Alayne felt a flutter in her chest at how sweet and kind Jon sounded when he spoke of his most distant sibling. She placed her hand, clutching the invite against her chest as she watched them.

“Did she ever make you anything?” Robert asked as he swung the sword as directed, moving a step forward when the weight of the wooden sword shifted too much. Jon caught his shoulders easily, taking a moment to show him how to shift his center of balance.

“No, she never did, but then I never asked.” Sweetrobin looked perplexed by his answer before once more swinging the sword, this time with less off-balance movement. He smiled over to Jon who nodded with a smile of his own.

“Alayne is really good at sewing too, maybe if you ask then she’ll make you something.” Alayne felt her breath stutter at the little Lord’s words. She tried to keep others from knowing that, a passion that passed on from Sansa to Alayne. It was easier to hide that she knew how to sew well, less able to connect Sansa’s higher upbringing verses Alayne’s lower upbringing.

“Maybe, but I have want of nothing that I don’t already own.”

“That doesn’t mean I cannot make something for you,” Alayne said hurriedly, stepping down into the empty courtyard, voided of everyone but them. Jon and Sweetrobin looked up from their swordplay, the little Lord smiling at her approach while Jon appeared stiff. “What is your favorite color, Jon?”

“What’s my favorite color, Alayne?!” Sweetrobin asked quickly, setting down the wooden sword to rest his arms. Alayne pulled her index finger up to her lip, tapping lightly in thought.

“Hmm…is it…blue?”

He rolled his eyes, mumbling that was easy and she knew better. She laughed at his sudden grumpy attitude before looking over to Jon with an arched brow, “Well, my lord?”

“Black…it has always been my color,” Jon replied distantly, his eyes slightly glazed over as though he were locked in a memory of sorts.

“Black is such a dull color and you wear it all the time,” Alayne pointed out, coming to stand close to him as she lifted her hand to lightly brush the collar of his black leather jerkin. He took a sharp intake of air at the notion. “How about some real color, hmm? Maybe some green to offset your eyes and hair?”

Jon kept silent, lips pressed together as she reached up to lightly touch his loosened curls. She marveled at the feel of them through her fingers, what she wouldn’t give to run both of her hands and fingers through his hair. He swallowed before shrugging away from her. “You do not have to make me anything,” he stated abruptly.

“You’re right. I don’t have to because I want too.” Alayne then looked down at the folded paper, wrinkled by her grip and not as pristine as it once was. “That reminds me, I came looking for you with a purpose.” She then lifted the paper up to Jon, waiting for him to take it.

“What is it?” he asked as he looked over the handwriting of his name. He seemed to pause at it, brow scrunched in confusion, his mouth slightly open in an unspoken question as he looked over his name then looked at her almost searchingly.

“Well you must read it to find out, of course.” Alayne’s stomach made a swooping effect that made her suddenly nervous. Why was he looking at her like that? Was it the handwriting? Surely, he didn’t know Sansa’s handwriting? That would be absurd, wouldn’t it? Then again, they learned from the same Maester and Septa, it was all possible he recognized it. It was just like with the curtsy a few days ago.

Once again, Sansa ruins everything.

Jon looked at her for a long moment before directing his eyes on the paper. Slowly he unfolded it and read what was inside. It was a simple invite, stating that he would be seated with her and Robert Arryn at the head table, specifically seated beside her. Alayne smiled when he glanced up after finishing. “Do you accept?” she asked, widening her eyes innocently.

“I accept,” he answered with a nod. Alayne quickly snatched up the paper, lest he analyze it later. It might sound paranoid, but she couldn’t leave things up to chance. Jon frowned as she folded the paper up and slipped it into a hidden pocket on her dress.

“Then I shall leave you both to finish your training,” she announced before leaving them to make sure the arrangements were truly settled and to get her mind off the fact that she almost blew her cover because of Sansa again…

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one section with Sansa in it. Originally the chapter started out with Sansa's section first, but again I added a second Alayne because of inspiration. So, Alayne is slipping, letting some of Sansa's quirks out. The curtsy, I would think Jon would totally recognize since it would be the same movement and flow, not to mention he already seeing Alayne in resemblance to Sansa. As for the handwriting, it was more a toss up (which was why I added the curtsy part at the end of the first Alayne section), maybe Jon could recognize Sansa's writing, or maybe he knows a highborn's handwriting? I like to think he remembers Sansa's handwriting in congruent with the curtsy and resemblance. Alayne needs to watch herself! 
> 
> Then there was the moment with Sansa's memory leaking over to Alayne and causing her pain and Sansa having a major headache herself. So far we're seeing more of Sansa bleeding through to Alayne, but trust me there will be more of Alayne bleeding through to Sansa. I hope y'all can read the difference in how each acts for their sections, upon rereading I found that Sansa's section felt and read different from Alayne's and I hope that's true and not my being delusion. 
> 
> Anywho I hope y'all enjoyed this update! Again, I have the next done, but I need to edit it and I am thinking of adding another section to boost it to 4,000 words from 3,400. If y'all haven't noticed, I don't do short chapters and I don't like to present short chapters either, it's my personal preference which is why it takes me longer to update at times, also I'm very meticulous with my writing and try for perfection (and usually fall short of it, lol). Let me know whatcha think!? ^_~


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3!!!! This one was fun to write because it explores more of Sansa's emotions (you'll see in a moment) and kind of sets the sexual aspect of the story going forward and much, much more! It's a shorter chapter though I added 700 more words to it, but I feel it started and ended on good notes with the next chapter after. 
> 
> So glad everyone is enjoying this story so far! It's one of my favorites to write and I'm glad it's a totally different experience than the usual Alayne/Jon stories. Anywho go read and enjoy!! ^_~

 

 

 

_Soft lips pressed tenderly to hers, moving in strange ways as though asking her questions to be answered in kind. She responded as such, moving her lips to his, moaning from the taste of his mouth. The touch of tongues sent shocking tingles through her body, moving in tangent with the jolting pleasure of his hands on her body. Caressing her flesh, brushing her skin and teasing little bumps to rise in the wake of his drifting fingers. It felt so nice, so sweet…so…real…_

Sansa felt the throbbing of her head as she woke, her brow crinkling in mild pain then she felt how dry her throat was, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth from the dryness and how stale the inside of her mouth tasted. Her stomach lurched as she swallowed drily. She searched her memories, but everything seemed rather vague and blurry. There were slight flashes of Sweetrobin’s nameday feast with plentiful food and music and dancing. She knew Alayne had been in control then, so she knew she wouldn’t remember much as per-usual, but there was something poking at her, trying to scratch the surface of her memories.

As she tried to drag up some form of memory of yesterday she felt around her covers, realizing how different they felt, not soft and light like they normally were, but stiff and heavy, weighing down upon her body. Slowly Sansa opened her eyes to see a darken ceiling overhead, very little light filtering into the chambers which was peculiar because her drapes were always pulled apart to allow the little bit of sunlight through to brighten her room. Sansa felt perplexed, wondering why her drapes were closed.

She then froze when her covers were slightly pulled off her to reveal her bare breasts to the cool air. Her nipples tighten, crinkling stiffly as she gasped. Her arms crossed over her chest immediately before realizing that it wasn’t just her breasts that were bared, but her whole body. Sansa had never slept nude, she was too afraid Littlefinger would believe it was an invitation. She moved her legs where she noticed two things.

One, there was a strange, painful ache between her legs that seemed to almost throb in time with her headache and two, her knee had definitely brushed against another knee. It was hairy and bare.

Sansa sucked in air tightly through her mouth then turned her head to her left where she greeted her bedmate. It was like time had frozen completely, not only around her but inside her. Everything became still as though the very air held in a pause. She stopped breathing, stopped moving as she took in the man sharing her bed. A man she knew very well with his dark hair and eyes. A man she called half-brother.

A shudder wrecked her body as she looked at Jon’s sleeping face, any lines that were usually present when he was awake were now smoothed out as he slept. His chest was bare as hers where she made out some dark hairs littered about while darken lines of scars were scattered here and there. Sansa swallowed thickly as she noticed that the covers were pulled down to his thighs, possibly kicked them off because of their shared body heat. As her eyes drifted down his body, she took notice of the fact that he was very, very naked much like herself.

How could she not notice when his limp cock was presently laying against his thigh between his spread legs? Sansa clenched her eyes shut, pushing her head into the pillow as she silently moaned at the sight of her half-brother’s manhood. It didn’t take her long to put together the picture of what could have happened between them. He was naked. She was naked. There was much drinking especially with Littlefinger gone and then there was the painful ache between her thighs, echoing right at the entrance to her womanly parts.

No, it doesn’t take a genius to realize what exactly occurred between them.

Sansa’s eyes teared up as she slowly pushed the covers away from her body, biting down on her lip from the throb of her cunt as she moved to stand. If she had any doubts that her and Jon engaged in sex, then it was laid to bare when the covers revealed a darken spot where she had laid. The evidence of her maidenhead for all to see. Her legs shook and wobbled as she stood, her eyes pinpointed on the darken spot while everything else seemed to fade away in her vision until her tears started to obscure her sight.

A sudden glow of rage bellowed within her tummy, growing heated and clawing at her insides as she blinked away her tears. How could Alayne do this to her? How could she allow herself to engage in sex with Jon? Her arms crossed her body to hug herself as she crouched over the bed, bending at the waist as a raw cry rippled in her throat, waiting to be released. She tried so hard to do everything right, so hard trying to survive so she could make it home. That was all Sansa wanted, she just wanted to go home and have her life be what it use to be. Staring at that spot of dried blood seemed to bring her back towards reality, that nothing was ever really going to go back to the way it was and it was silly and stupid of her to think otherwise, to wish and dream otherwise.

Jon naked as his nameday and that spot told her everything was different, everything had changed once more. Alayne was supposed to protect them, to help keep Sansa from losing what little sanity she had left and instead Alayne did as she pleased without a care for anyone else.

Her stomach lurched again, bale raising up her throat though it took all her will power to swallow it down along with her bleak wails of misery. She turned her back on the bed, on Jon to search for her clothing. Her dress was lying crumpled on the floor, gathering dust. It was cold as she stepped into the dress, pulling it up her body. Her hands were shaking so much that it made it almost impossible to tie her dress back on her. She kept glancing between her shaking hands to Jon’s sleeping form, hoping upon hope that he wouldn’t wake up just yet.

Gods only knew how bad that would be…

Suddenly there was a tickle in her nose then Sansa was sneezing loudly, startling Jon awake where he sat up fast, looking around him before his eyes landed on her. He took in her undressed state, her dress barely covering her exposed breasts, he then looked down to see himself before quickly pulling the covers back upon him. His face was as red as hers felt as they seemed to look at anywhere but each other.

She needed to hurry up and get back to her own chambers, having realized they had stole away to his that night. Sansa could even bring up a vague memory of her leading Jon down the hall, fingers intertwined together as they giggled and chuckled.

“Alayne,” Jon finally managed to say, his voice roughened by the drinking of yesterday and slumber. “I am so sorry, I have dishonored you…I…” Sansa lifted her head from adjusting her dress to see the look of despair on Jon’s face. Though she was disgusted with herself and with him, she couldn’t exactly blame him for how she felt.

Jon had no idea who Alayne Stone truly was. He has no idea that he took his half-sister’s maidenhead last night. She was alone in her disgust and if she were honest, it was more directed at herself, or more accurately, directed at Alayne then Jon. She maybe disguised as a base-born bastard, but she needn’t act like one all the time, what was Alayne thinking?! She knew Jon and Sansa were related and yet she completely disregarded it, what if he…what if she…

Sansa quickly bent down as though she were fixing her dress more, yet she was really bringing her hand to her cunt, running her fingers along her swollen lips to feel wetness there. Her heart stuttered as she brought her hand back only to reveal a clear stickiness instead. Littlefinger made sure Sansa knew exactly what happened when a man laid with a woman, was told of what a man’s seed would look like though thankfully she wasn’t shown it. That gave her a different type of shudder.

He didn’t peak in her, that much she could tell and that lifted some weight from her shoulders as well.

She peered back over to see her brother’s slumped shoulders and harden expression on his face. Already Sansa could tell he was beating himself up about the incident, part of her just wanted to escape his chambers, to run away to hers where she could burrow into her blankets and wish the day away. There was a rawness in the back of her throat, a wailing cry just ready to be released once she was alone, but she couldn’t leave Jon in such a state. He was clueless, in the dark of whom she truly was, and it pained her to see him to torn up over the dishonor he paid her. Silently, Sansa reasoned that if someone had to feel horrible and sad then it shouldn’t be him.

“You haven’t dishonored me, Jon,” Sansa said firmly, her voice croaking from her dry throat and mouth. “I’m base-born like you, no one expects me to remain pure.” Except Littlefinger most certainly did and so would Harry Hardyng as well. Sansa tried not to think of the consequences of her (Alayne’s) rash decisions.

“That doesn’t matter,” Jon muttered, shaking his head. “You should have been with someone you love and care for.” His words struck a cord inside her, the morose expression on his face as he glanced at her tugged at her heart. During the fortnight that Jon had been staying here, Sansa had found that she rather enjoyed her half-brother so much more than she ever thought as a child. He was strong, shrewd and kind, he was also respectable and courteous.

“No, it was my decision and why cannot it not be with someone I like and respect?” Sansa swallowed, wondering how these words were coming forth so easily, only moments ago she was agonizing about her ruined future and angered with Alayne, and now she was comforting Jon over a mistake that wasn’t entirely his fault if at all. It made her truly think.

Was it any worse having her first time be with her honorable, half-brother than forcibly with a creep like Littlefinger, or pretentious womanizer like Harry? It would complicate things for sure, but was it truly any worse? The answering ‘no’ echoed inside of her, somehow bringing forth a strength she usually associated with Alayne.

“We were drunk, I took advantage of you,” Jon continued, dropping his head into his hands. Sansa nibbled on her lip, glancing between her escape out the door and Jon in utter despair. It wasn’t that hard of a choice to make.

Slowly she approached him. Jon had moved so he was seated over the side of the bed, covers hiding the rest of him while his face was buried within his hands. Attentively she reached out to touch his bare shoulder, feeling the heated, hardened muscle as he stiffened from her touch. Sansa seated herself next to him, giving them space though she kept her hand on his shoulder. It seemed to steady him more than it was comforting him.

“Yes, we were both drunk and I barely remember what happened last night, but I like to think I know you well enough, Jon, that you wouldn’t truly take advantage of me. I mean, what if it was I who took advantage of you?” Sansa arched a brow as Jon looked up from his hands. She gave him a soft smile, giving his shoulder a squeeze as well. “Are you always like this when you first sleep with a woman?”

“No!” Jon immediately said, pulling back from her before he realized she was teasing him. “No,” he repeated more quietly, “the only other woman I have slept with hadn’t been a maiden like you.”

That surprised her, she hadn’t known that her brother had slept with anyone considering his vows to the Night’s Watch. Was it a whore from the neighboring town? Or was it someone from Winterfell? Sansa found it rather curious that Jon had done anything at all, he had been such a painfully shy boy growing up and kept away from girls as though they contained disease. There was another curious aspect in herself that responded negatively to his confession, a green jealousy that heated at the thought of Jon kissing, touching and sleeping with anyone at all. What was so curious was that she didn’t know where it was coming from, herself or Alayne?

“Well, we cannot change the past remember? We just have to contend with it,” Sansa declared, drawing her hands together into her lap as she pushed away the lingering bits of jealousy; most certainly from Alayne. She watched as he nodded his head in agreement then a wave of awkwardness settled upon their shoulders, weighing them down. “I think I should go to my chambers now.”

As Sansa moved to depart from his chambers, grabbing pieces of her clothing as she went, she made sure to bide Jon with some lasting words, “I do hope this won’t bring about any awkwardness for us.”

Jon looked up from the floor, he seemed unsure of how to answer. Sansa clenched her fingers around her clothes, her other hand hovering over the doorknob. “Aye, I won’t ignore you if that’s what you are afraid of.”

“Good.” A small smile caught her lips as she turned away from him to leave.

It was early morning, so early that she easily made it back to her chambers without sighting a single person. Once she was safely tucked away into her room was when the waterworks came upon her and that wailing cry ripped its way through her throat and out her mouth. Though what she had told Jon was the truth it was much like what he had said to her afterwards, that contending with the past was easier said than done.

She barred her door before flinging her clothes to the floor as tears leaked from her eyes. She was no longer a maiden. It seemed surreal how it all came about, how easily things changed before she could stop them. If not for the ache between her legs and seeing Jon naked, she would have thought it all a bizarre dream, a ridiculous notion that only the most perverse could think up, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t.

It was all Alayne’s fault.

Sansa collapsed onto her bed as she cried into her pillow. Her disgust came back with a vengeance as did the lurching in her stomach. She barely made it the chamber pot, throwing up mostly an empty stomach. Her brother, her bastard, half-brother was the first man she had sex with. It seemed like such a joke, like she was waiting for the real punchline yet that was it and it wasn’t funny.

She was meant to wait until marriage for her husband and now…

As she wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve, Sansa noticed a piece of paper sitting on the night stand beside her bed. Frowning, she got up on unsteady legs, using her other sleeve to wipe away the tear trails on her cheeks from her reddening eyes though they were still watery and waiting to spill over once more. Sniffling, she picked up the paper to see her name on it in her handwriting.

A sense of dread came to settle harshly between her shoulder blades as she read:

_Sansa,_

            _You need to stop ruining things! What will father think of you if you ruined his good relations with the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch? I don’t know what you said to make him ignore me, but I will fix it like I always fix your messes. Why can’t you stay inside? Is it not better for me to be in control? No matter, I will fix your mistake like always._

_Alayne_

Sansa read over the letter twice before the words sunk in. Alayne was getting out of control, her words made her so angry. She quickly went over to rekindle her fire, once the flames flickered up she balled up the letter, tossing it into the flames and watching it burn to ash as her stomach gurgled in her anger. Alayne was ruining everything, not fixing it! How is sleeping with her brother fixing things? How is losing her maidenhead fixing her situation?

It did nothing but complicate things more and put her in a hard spot when time came to remarry with a man expecting her to remain pure as Sansa Stark, not Alayne Stone. She just doesn’t think, she only does what she feels is right, not what was right for the both of them. Sansa dropped to her butt to enclose her arms around her knees as she glared into the fire.

While Jon was here she had best be the one in control, there was no telling what Alayne would do, no telling what more fixes she deemed right that were wrong that she could do to Sansa’s life.

I need to be in control for now on, Sansa thought, or else Alayne would ruin everything…

 

\---------------------------------------------------------

 

Sansa found that, that too was easier said than done. Alayne was stronger than her it seemed, for every time she fought for control she would be pushed aside so easily as one would swat away a buggering fly. She found her days missing as she marked them and more letters with taunting words from Alayne. Sansa left a few of her own, trying to reason with her other half, but it seemed utterly useless to bother.

When she came across Jon, he did seem rather himself again. Working with the bannermen while collecting resources from the Eyrie that would be taken back to the Wall along with a few men, some who volunteered and some who were going whether they wanted too or not. Jon spoke with her often, never once mentioning the incident a week earlier, but he seemed much laxer with her than before.

Myranda filled her in on that fact, commenting on how she was spending an awful a lot of time with the Lord Commander and openly flirting with him whenever she could. Sansa would grind her teeth as her anger boiled inside her belly when she realized how much trouble Alayne was going to get her in, get both of them in.

Littlefinger came home only four days ago, greeting Alayne much to Sansa’s relief but that didn’t mean she escaped him completely. She was called to his solar the day she finally gained control and Sansa was nervous to find out what this was about. According to Myranda’s observations she openly flirted with Jon in front of anyone that was around, including Harry Hardyng which was not good.

Alayne was slowly jeopardizing everything. She knew Littlefinger would learn of Alayne’s actions, knew he would not approve and unfortunately Sansa was the one to have to deal with the consequences as well. She knocked on the solar door, flinching when she called out, “Father?”

“Come in, Alayne.” She heard through his wooden door. Straightening her shoulders, Sansa turned the doorknob and entered the solar, closing the door soundlessly behind her as she took in Littlefinger seated at his writing desk, looking over some paperwork of his. “Please, come sit daughter.”

Sansa hated when he called her that, hated referring to him as ‘father’ when he clearly was not and clearly did not want to be either. No father touched and kissed his daughter the way she endured his touching and kissing. She seated herself quickly, hoping to get this whole thing over with. Littlefinger took his time though, finishing up last touches to some papers with brief glances up at her as he worked.

She knew what he was doing. He was trying to make her anxious and worried that way she would be far more truthful when he asked her questions. It took a while, but eventually Sansa picked up on the trick, it took some help from Alayne, of course, but now that she knew the trick it didn’t work so well anymore. He didn’t know that though.

“So,” Petyr started, setting aside his quill to interlace his fingers as he bore his stare into her eyes. “I have been told and noticed myself, that you have become quite taken with our fellow Lord Commander.”

Sansa merely nodded, knowing that he didn’t want a verbal response because he already knew the answer, he only wanted her to agree if his observations were correct; they were.

He smirked, giving a nod of his head as well. “I didn’t think I would have to tell you that it can be…quite dangerous interacting with the Lord Commander, Alayne. I would have thought you would figure that out yourself.”

“I know, father, and I am sorry,” Sansa said softly, bowing her head to appear as though she truly were sorry. He was right that it was dangerous to interact with Jon, lest he figure out her true identity, but it irked her to hear Littlefinger state the truth. If she didn’t know her true self, Sansa would have thought the streak of rebellion welling in her was from Alayne.

“I know you are, sweetling. It’s hard to keep away from someone so…intriguing,” Petyr went on, moving to stand and circle his desk. Sansa stiffened when she realized he was going to touch her. She withheld a flinch when his hands came upon her shoulders, kneading her bone and flesh. “But you are not in trouble.”

“I’m not?” Sansa asked confusedly. He gave her shoulders a squeeze of reassurance though his long fingers slide down further to touch the skin of her collarbone.

“No, and would you like to know why?” Sansa half dreaded the answer because it usually came with a price. A price she was not always willing to pay.

“Yes.” His hands removed from her shoulders to grasp her chair and pull it back, she stood knowing that was what he wanted and turned towards him to see his appraising gaze. His fingers touched her cheekbone, lightly tracing her facial bone structure before his hand drifted down to grasp the side of her neck, his way of holding her still, of extending his power over her.

“You see, I’ve also been told that your flirtations with Lord Commander Snow has drawn the attention of a certain heir.” Sansa swallowed, hating how he could feel her do it. Myranda had also grudgingly admitted that Alayne’s flirting with Jon was gaining attention from Harry. As it were told the young heir was becoming jealous of Jon, not only with Sweetrobin and the other Lords here, but apparently with her as well. “I know it can be quite hard to continue your actions with Lord Snow considering…but it seems that things are starting to fall into place if it is drawing Harry Hardyng’s attention as I have been told.”

Sansa’s stomach pitted as she realized that Littlefinger wanted her to continue to ‘flirt’ with Jon to draw Harry’s attention onto her. Considering…the sick creep knew Jon was her brother, but had she given any indication she cared otherwise? Alayne clearly did not care that Jon was physically and mentally related to Sansa while being physically related to Alayne. Was this her way of fixing Sansa’s mistakes? She had a feeling it wasn’t.

“How…how far do you wish me to go, father, to gain Harry’s attention?” Sansa finally voiced out, unable to hide the shiver that ran down her back as she remembered waking up naked beside Jon only a week and a few days prior.

“As far as it will get for you to gain that betrothal from Harry Hardyng,” Petyr announced with his lips curling into a smirk that grew nearer and nearer towards her.

It was time she paid the price for knowledge…

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was definitely an emotional chapter at the beginning. I wanted to get across the sorrow and anger in Sansa from Alayne's actions, but also her compassion by comforting Jon and holding her own feelings at bay. The whole writing to each other bit I got from an anime I loved on Cartoon Network growing up called 'Paranoia Agent', the show is hard to explain, but one of the episodes has a woman with dueling personalities where during the day she's meek and well-mannered while at night she becomes a sex-craving, seductress and they talked to each other through voicemail, the night version mean and taunting while the morning version is kind and shy. When I produced this idea, I immediately thought of that episode and wanted to use something akin to it thus the writing of letters since they don't actually talk to each other in person.
> 
> Also I am sorry if y'all thought you would see more Alayne teasing of Jon during the nameday feast, I always planned on skipping that and heading into Sansa waking up after Alayne sleeps with Jon. There is also some aspects of Alayne bleeding into Sansa, hopefully y'all noticed. Sometimes I feel like I'm hitting people on the head with a hammer on some of this stuff, I want to be subtle and not too obvious, but...not sure I am doing so well. Anywho I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! The next is the last one that is already written, but I am working on finishing the story before hand so there won't be a lot of waiting in between. Let me know whatcha think!? ^_~


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final pre-written chapter, but its only three more and I know how each chapter will be, so I think they'll be hashed out rather quickly. This chapter was a fun one *wink, wink*
> 
> So happy to see more people reading and enjoying this story! I hope y'all enjoy this update!

 

 

 

Alayne felt giddy as she walked the halls. She found a letter from Sansa that morning grudgingly agreeing that her flirtations with Jon had lead to good things though that hadn’t been the intention at all. She merely liked flirting with the honorable Lord Commander who seemed to easily flush under her attentions and sometimes confidently flirted back. She enjoyed his company, far more than Harry the heir whom she was avoiding as best she could.

If he grew jealous and wanted her attention because she was giving it to someone else than he only had himself to blame. Alayne had no intentions of trying to gain his acknowledgement anymore, she had bigger fish in mind.

Sansa may not be able to remember that night with Jon, but Alayne did. She could remember the sweet taste of his kiss on her lips, the gentle touch of his fingers as they caressed her naked flesh and the bitter pleasure of his cock pushing into her cunt, collecting her maidenhead for his own. Jon had been sweet and gentle with her the first time around, the second time though, that had been pure fucking.

Alayne hummed to herself as flashes of Jon hovering above her crossed her mind, his panting breathes as he breathed her name while her body rocked with his powerful thrusts into her body. She had clung to him for dear life as he pounded repeated into her, both her arms and legs wrapped around him to keep him close. The glazed look in his eyes as he peered down at her from above, holding his body up by his strong, muscled arms. Alayne never felt so vulnerable before, never thought she would ever want that feeling and yet she loved it. His mere presence seemed to engulf her being, showing such power and will.

Yet Jon was tender with her, sweet kisses littered upon her skin. Groaning his want and pleasure into her neck as he thrusted. She couldn’t help but be mildly disappointed when he pulled out at the last second both times, peaking on the sheets of his bed the first and on her stomach the second. Alayne rubbed his seed into her skin, relishing the feel of it as he rubbed her swollen nub so she could peak a second time as well. Sansa would be glad that he hadn’t peaked inside her. Not only was moon tea dangerous to drink often at times if not brewed correctly, but the ingredients were hard to come by in the Vale.

Though had it come down to it, Alayne was sure she could obtain some via Myranda’s knowledgeable ways, or Mya whom traveled up and down the mountain so very often.

Alayne could acknowledge that she had been reckless, tugging Jon along to his chambers with as inebriated as they both were, but she couldn’t help her want of him. The way he danced with her that night for Sweetrobin’s nameday feast. He had laughed, smiled more broadly than she had ever witnessed of the solemn man and best of all, his eyes remained on her the entire night. She was weak, she knew. Jon Snow was vastly becoming quite the weakness for her and no one, not even Sansa Stark was going to keep her from him.

The thought of Jon and sweet kisses sent a warming heat pooling in her belly. She licked her lips as a throb of want echoed between her legs, she wanted him again. A mischievous smile came to her lips as she strolled along down the corridor. She wanted him again and she intended that she had him once more.

It didn’t take her long to locate the Lord Commander. Alayne waited patiently as he trained with the other Lords out in the courtyard. She stood in the shadows, not wanting to interact with anyone, nor be sighted. Jon barely broke a sweat once the training was said and done, he merely smiled at the men and chatted for a bit before heading inside. He probably meant to bathe though he hadn’t a need to from her point of view.

Alayne followed a few paces behind him, following quietly as he moved. She didn’t doubt that he knew someone was following him, Jon wasn’t named Lord Commander for nothing. He stopped walking though she kept moving, walking right up to him as he turned around with his brows burrowed downward towards his eyes and a deeply etched frown on his lips before he noticed who it was. He breathed out her name as she approached him. Alayne reached down to grab his hand, interlacing their fingers as she tugged him along with her behind her.

Just as they were about to pass an empty corridor she turned into it a few feet to conceal them in shadows before pushing him back against the wall where he grunted then asked, “Alayne, what’s going on?”

“I watched your training, you happened to win I noticed,” Alayne stated cheekily, smiling at his confused expression.

“We were training, Alayne, there isn’t any winning.” She slowly started to shake her head at him, brushing her fingers up and down his black leather jerkin thoughtfully.

“Regardless,” she started, fingering one of the buttons, “you deserve a reward.” Jon appeared perplexed as Alayne glanced between him and her wandering fingers. “Would you like a reward, Lord Commander?”

“Uh…I uh…” Jon stuttered and stumbled over his words as Alayne went down to her knees. Her fingers slid down his jerkin, stopping where it ended just over his breeches.

She bit her lip impishly as she pushed up on his jerkin to reveal the ties to his breeches. Jon opened his mouth as though to say something, possibly to stop her but no words came out as she slowly untied his breeches. Her heart pounded so loudly it was practically all she could hear in her ears as she tugged open his pants then tugged them down his butt to show his smallclothes. She glanced back up at him before running the tip of her tongue over top the fabric where his harden length was hidden within.

Jon groaned, his eyes scrunching closed as Alayne repeated her action again; from bottom to top. Her fingers found the edge to his smallclothes then pulled them down to allow his cock freedom. Jon moaned her name as she wrapped her hand around his cock, kissing the tip as though it were his lips. She hadn’t gotten the chance to take hold of him that night, she sorely wished she had and so she granted her own wish. His cock was strangely soft yet harden muscle that felt heavy and strong in her grasp. Alayne ran her lips along the rim of his cock, flicking her tongue out teasingly. Just when he seemed to gather his wits to speak was when she engulfed him within her mouth.

Alayne moaned at the taste of salt and sweat, swallowing as much of his cock as she could until his head hit the back of her throat. She caressed his balls as she pulled back then forward again, flicking her tongue around his length as she moved. Looking back up she watched as his face tightened in pleasure, Jon’s head moving to the left then right as she pleasured him with her hot, wet mouth.

She dreamed of doing this, hoping and waiting for the right moment to get down on her knees and worship him. Fuck Sansa and her relation to him, fuck her father and his disregard to his relation to her and fuck Harry Hardyng, she would never get down on her knees for him. Alayne bobbed her head faster as he tried his best to hold back his moans. She smiled around his length when she felt his hand touch the back of her head, running through her loosen strands of hair as she moved up and down his cock.

What she couldn’t fit within her mouth she stroked and squeezed with one hand while she palmed and kneaded his balls with the other. He was so lovely like this, the uncontrollable sight of his pleasure running through the expressions on his face, the way he tried to keep his moans deep inside his chest where it seemed to vibrate through his body and the darkness of his eyes when they did finally open to peer down his body to gaze into hers. He was a sight to behold, so lovely and so pretty.

With ease she forced her throat to open and accommodate his cock further down, her reflux swallowing at the encounter before she pulled back then consumed him again, sliding him even further down her throat. Jon rutted forward bit by bit, clutching her hair tightly within his grip as he got closer and closer to his peak. Alayne wanted it so badly, she wanted his seed to flood her mouth and throat.

She could feel her smallclothes were soaked as she worked his length, half of her wished to touch herself, to bring herself off as well, but she wanted his peak more. Alayne moved forward once more, engulfing his entire cock until her nose was tickled by the wiry hair above his cock and his balls bumped her chin. Jon moaned out her name then he peaked.

Alayne swallowed everything she could before pulling his cock out of her mouth, licking the remains of his seed from his length then from her lips. Jon slid down the wall until he was seated in front of her kneeled position, staring at her like she wasn’t real, a wonderment that he had only heard of through songs and stories. The look caused a deep warming through her body, flooding her system in a way she had never felt before. Alayne had no idea what it was, but she knew it was because of him. She quickly swallowed the rest of his release then leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips, flicking her tongue up his lips to touch the tip of his nose.

“I hope you liked your reward,” she said breathlessly, helping him tuck his limping manhood back into his smallclothes and breeches. Jon merely nodded his head at her, gasping deeply to catch his breath. Alayne couldn’t help the bright smile on her lips when she took in how pleased he seemed to be by her attentions. “Good.” She pressed another kiss to his lips, lingering a moment longer to keep the impression of his lips against hers for a later date; a reminder of his sweet kisses.

Her knees hurt from the kneeling, but it was worth the effort for the reward she gave for him and gained from him. Alayne sent a wink over her shoulder then left Jon to collect himself alone in the shadows…

 

\---------------------------------------------------------

 

Alayne had left Sansa a cryptic message when she woke that morning. It was short and left a good amount of anxiety welling in her belly when she left her chambers that morning:

_Sansa,_

            _I kept Jon in a very good mood yesterday, don’t do anything to ruin that._

_Alayne_

Sansa feared what she meant exactly by ‘good mood’. She figured that she should just avoid Jon for that day, keep herself busy with Sweetrobin and working on her sewing and arithmetic. Littlefinger did not like how she didn’t seem to excel with mathematics and made her practice on the daily, usually in his presence.

Most times she could get away with doing it with Maester Colemon in attendance, but sometimes she had the misfortune of Littlefinger wishing to be there and that meant going to his solar. Sansa hoped she could find the maester quickly, so she wouldn’t be forced to work with Petyr. If she got her calculations wrong then it costed her and he usually expected his payment for her mistakes at the end of the session, that usually meant in the form of kisses that Sansa would rather not be forced to participate in.

The hall was quiet as she walked, it was mid-morning and she had already broken her fast with Sweetrobin. Jon had been there as well though he kept his head down, looking only at his food than anyone else. Sansa once more wondered what exactly Alayne had done to Jon because he looked less than in a good mood that morning. If she tried hard, sometimes Sansa could produce some memories of the previous day, or days that Alayne had been in control, but that brought on the headaches and sometimes nose bleeds. She tended to avoid trying so hard to remember unless absolutely necessary. Needless to say, though she was more than a little afraid to learn of what her counterpart had done during her time of control.

Maybe it was best left unknown?

A flash of a memory came over her though when she glanced to her right to see an empty corridor, a sense of déjà vu came over her as she halted to stare at the spot. Strangely there was a throb between her legs as she stared at the darken corridor. It led to a few empty chambers that were not in use currently, so the hall was darken to conserve torches. A shiver ran down her back, it was then she heard quicken footsteps.

Sansa turned around in time to see Jon heading her way with a determined expression upon his face. Just as she was about to say his name, he was upon her taking a hold of her hand and leading her right down the darken corridor. She could barely make him out when they stopped a few feet in. Sansa breathed out his name in explanation when Jon pressed her against the wall, caging her within his arms.

Before she could question him, his lips descended upon hers, pressing softly into her. Sansa shuddered at the movement of his lips, frozen between shock and an uncontrollable want for more. Jon’s lips molded against hers, slanting and pressing insistently so that she couldn’t help but respond to him. His kiss was so much nicer than Littlefinger’s, so much softer and consuming in a good way. Sansa felt she was drowning within his soft, plush lips, a moan locked between their mouths that it was hard to tell from whom it started from and from whom it ended with.

The touch of his tongue on her lips caused her to gasp then moan as it tangled with hers, rubbing spongy muscle around her mouth and waging war on her tongue as they kissed. A part of her was screaming that this was wrong, she was kissing her brother like a lover, but it felt so familiar. The tangle of their tongues, the wet press of his lips and the bristling brushes of his beard, it all seemed so familiar to her.

The only answer was Alayne, but anger was the farthest thing from her mind at the moment.

Jon pulled back first to press lingering kisses to her cheek, jaw and neck as Sansa gasped for air while echoing moans escaped her lips. His kisses moved further down, pressing on her collarbone then the tops of her cleavage that her dress allotted for. Her hands had gripped into his leather jerkin, digging in her nails and leaving marks into the boiled leather as she allowed her breath to be stolen repeatedly by Jon’s lips.

He descended further down, kissing her covered breasts then stomach before he was on his knees, kneeling before her. Sansa let out a shuddering breath at the sight, her hands fallen back to clutch uselessly at the stone wall. Jon gave her a small smile, leaning forward with his eyes still locked on hers to press another kiss to where her mound was hidden by the skirts of her dress.

“You are so beautiful,” Jon breathed out. Sansa wondered if he had meant to worship her from his perched position, gazing up at her like she was a wonderment he had never seen before. Something else to steal her breath away it seemed.

Jon kept a steady gaze on her as he started lifting her skirts, revealing her boots then stockings before they ended at her knees to further reveal her creamy skin. One hand held her skirts up to her belly while the other skimmed along her revealed skin, touching her softness with his callused fingertips. Sansa knew she should stop him, knew that this was wrong and sinful, but instead of pushing him away with her hands as she should she took the handful of her skirts from his hand, raising it higher to clutch at her bosom.

He seemed to appreciate the help, giving her a bigger smile that showed his top row of teeth. She knew he could see her smallclothes, the very ones that she decorated with little snowflakes of whites and blues against the pink fabric. She hadn’t thought much of them when she found them laid out for her with the dress. Sometimes Alayne chose outfits for her to wear, usually things she had wished to have worn when she was in control. Sansa wondered if she knew Jon would be seeing them, that she expected the glazed over look in his eyes as he took in the decorated underwear, touching one of the snowflakes wistfully with his fingers.

“Did you make these?” he asked roughly, coughing to clear his throat as he looked back up at her. Sansa bit down on her lip then nodded as her cheeks flushed, she felt speechless. Incompetent to utter a single word with him kneeled before her.

Was it so wrong of her to like how he was looking at her now?

“Alayne,” he mumbled, kissing the exposed edge of her tummy just above her smallclothes then he was untying them until they had fallen down her legs to show him the hidden curls on her mound.

For a mere second her heart stopped as she realized that the hair on her mound would not match the hair dyed on her head, but Jon seemed to not notice though as he kissed her there then spread Sansa’s legs to show what was hidden between. It’s too dark for him to see the difference, Sansa thought with a sigh of relief.

Suddenly her leg was lifted over his shoulder and before she could muster a voice to ask him what he was doing, Jon had already spread the folds of her cunt apart and dragged his tongue through the wetness there. Sansa moaned at the feel of his tongue on her most private area. She brought her clenched hands full of her skirt up to her mouth to keep her moans from being too loud. Jon groaned into her wet flesh, tonguing through her folds endlessly before closing his mouth around the top of her sex.

He was touching something there with his tongue, a bump or nub that shivered in pleasure at his licks and sucks. Her legs quivered as zings of pleasure shot through her cunt and down her nerve endings in her body. Jon mouthed at her cunt as though he were trying to devour her, his beard scratched at the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, contradicting the pleasure his mouth provided and strangely enhancing the feeling. Sansa couldn’t help but slowly thrust her hips upward against his mouth, she tried to stop herself once she realized what she was doing but she couldn’t stop, she needed more.

Her breathes got caught in her chest, shuddering through her mouth as she opened her eyes to look down and see Jon’s dark head between her legs. It was shocking and intense to see him there, to hear him supping on her cunt beyond the gasping breathes and moans that escaped her gaping mouth. It was too much and yet not enough. There was a building pressure in her abdomen that seemed to correspond to the pleasure Jon’s mouth was giving her, each suck, each lick, each slurp echoed through her flesh towards her abdomen, building closer and closer to something.

Sansa reached down to claw her fingers through his curly hair, clutching at his head as she felt herself get closer and closer to that peak. “Please Jon, please,” Sansa mumbled softly, finding her voice while tossing her head back and forth as she edged closer and closer.

A strange feeling pressed against her entrance, pushing into her. It took Sansa a moment to realize it was his fingers, two of them pushing into her cunt and curling downward on the way out, it only added to her pleasure. One moment she was begging Jon to keep going and the next she was crying out in pleasure as a white sheen crossed her vision and little sparks of pleasure echoed throughout her nerve endings.

Jon was standing up and holding her tightly to his chest as she caught her breath. He was whispering words into the skin of her neck, telling her how good she was for him, how good she had tasted and how much he had wanted to do that to her. Sansa whined as another zing of pleasure shot through her body from his words alone. His lips tenderly kissed the side of her neck before he pulled away to help situate herself back into her smallclothes.

Sansa found it hard to move afterwards, her legs shaking and quaking like a newborn foal. Jon smiled at her movements, taking her hand within his to help her get her steps together before they emerged from the darken corridor. In the light of day, she could see his beard appeared wet causing a flush to come to her cheeks, knowing that it was only like that because of her. He glanced around them once more then stepped into her where he pressed a kiss to her forehead, long and lingering.

“Until next time,” Jon muttered against her forehead before turning away and walking down the hall as though he hadn’t just given Sansa her first peak (that she could remember), as though he hadn’t buried his face between her thighs and tasted the flesh there.

Sansa closed her eyes tightly as a flash of heat ran through her. Gods, was this what Alayne felt when she and Jon had sex that night? Did he make her feel as good as he had just done to her? Sansa forced her eyes open while trying her best to force what happened to the back of her mind though that was harder to do when ones’ smallclothes was completely soaked and her center throbbing from pleasure.

Her mind felt jumbled, each thought tumbling into a ball of gibberish and confusion. Revulsion swirled around her mind, fighting back the good feelings Jon left behind, that her brother left behind. Sansa stumbled towards the wall, clapping a sweaty palm against the stone as she tried to catch her breath that had nothing to do with what happened minutes ago. There was a war going on inside her brain, disgust at the sinful actions she had taken with brother fought against the pleasure he had given to her, the familiarity of the situation and feelings that were brought up. Her head was starting to throb, tapping a harsh pulse in her temple as brief flashes of another time came over her.

Jon above her, watching her with his darken gaze. He was so close and clearly not wearing a shirt or tunic, moving in a strange rhythm that she had never witnessed before. Sansa moaned painfully as she pressed the side of her head against the cool stone. He was thrusting, she realized, thrusting…into her. They weren’t her memories, they were Alayne’s.

A warm, wet feeling touched her upper lip. Sansa forced her eyes open as she touched her lip, pulling her fingers back to reveal dark red blood. Her nose was bleeding. She moaned again, searching her bodice to pull out a handkerchief to press to her bleeding nose. The torches on the walls were too bright, flickering harsh at her eyes and making the pounding in her head more painful along with an awful ringing in her ear.

It took her a few minutes to collect herself, a few minutes to stall the flow of blood from her nose and focus her mind. Sansa breathed steadily, taking shuddering breathes before she could push herself off the stone wall, her feet moving clumsily underneath her weight. She counted her lucky stars that no one had happened upon her, the last thing she needed was a visit to Maester Colemon over a headache than her mathematic studies. Once she was sure she had a hold of herself, Sansa decided to head back to her chambers for the rest of the day. Feigning sickness wouldn’t be too hard, maybe fatigue?

Littlefinger will surely visit, but he won’t linger. He did not like being around anyone with any type of sickness, even Sweetrobin with his shakes bothered the lord paramour. Sansa couldn’t tell if it was from being around Aunt Lysa and her crazed behavior before her untimely death, or it was just something that Petyr had against, a phobia of sorts. Regardless, he’ll not stick around long, nor touch her either. Sansa had used her cramps from her moon’s blood many times to keep him away, even that bothered him.

She made it down the hall swiftly, aiming to be unseen before abruptly stopping when a certain man came into her sights. Harry turned towards her with a dimpled smile that would have caused any ladies to swoon dazedly, but Sansa could only muster a brief smile in return. She needed to go back to her chambers, not only for her headache, but also to change, the constant feeling of her cooling, sticky smallclothes against her heated core was starting to bother her.

“Lady Alayne,” Harry greeted smoothly, heading right for her prone position. Sansa squeezed her thighs together as she tried to ignore both that and the pounding of her head; this was awful.

“Lord Hardyng,” Sansa quickly greeted back, hoping the clenching of her jaw wasn’t noticeable to him. His eyes left hers to travel down her body slowly, she bit the inside of her cheek to keep her emotions in check. Eventually his gaze returned to hers, glinting in the lighting as he finished his approach.

“I feel I have not seen you in a fortnight.” He found his comment amusing from the humorous smile that replaced his knightly one. Sansa drew her head downward, hoping she looked bashful while really, she wished for nothing but to escape to her chambers.

“I have been very busy, my lord,” Sansa stated, peering up at him. Harry was giving her a look though, one that read his disbelief in her words.

“Have you? And whom has kept your company? A certain Lord Commander, perhaps?” Sansa immediately bristled at the tone in his voice when he uttered ‘Lord Commander’, saying the title as though it were nothing but spittle on the ground that he chewed up and spat. She couldn’t stop the way her lips quirked into a frown, nor the crinkle in between her brows that clearly showed her displeasure of his words.

“Perhaps…but it is rude to ask a ‘lady’ such a question.” The glint in his eyes came back and gave her an eerie sense of déjà vu. It only took her a moment to place that look, it was the same one that Littlefinger would send her way when he wasn’t pleased with her and wished to better…’educate’ her.

Harry can think she was stupid all he wanted, but she knew what he meant by asking her that question. It may sound innocent, but the tone and look said otherwise especially when his eyes drifted down to her sliver of skin above her tightly strung bodice of her dress. His meaning came across thoroughly well.

“Who says I am asking a lady?” Harry quips back though his tone is harsher along with the downward push of his brows into his eyes. The urge to slap him was strong, so strong that she barely contained herself. Her hand raised of its own accord before she directed it to lightly brush of the collar of his doublet.

“Then I suppose this lady has other places to be and other companies to keep, good day, Lord Hardyng.” Sansa sidestepped him smoothly without a faultier in her steps. She knew she was preening as she walked away, proud of her words and brisk exit.

She glanced just over her shoulder as she turned the corner to see Harry watching her with darken eyes, curled lip and tighten shoulders. The look had a forbidding feel towards it, sending a jolt of fear down her spine. Sansa and Alayne would need to be careful around Harry for now on. Careful to stay out of his sight especially when with Jon. He already had a dislike for her brother, no need to make Jon an enemy during his stay.

Sansa continued down the hall, that sense of forbidding dread following her around for the rest of that day…

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some oral smut for both Jon and Sansa. I know things seem to be jumping, again a lot of this was planned for a oneshot, so everything flowed with each other better when its one solid story, I think. Also I try to show that days have gone by while each personality are in control, so that gives more context and interaction not seen (written). Anywho, this will definitely complicate things for Sansa and it only gets more complex in the next final chapters! I added the Harry interaction after the thought because the chapter seemed to need something and really, she needed to interact with the man. I really enjoyed Sansa's witty comment before she leaves Harry in her dust, that's our girl! 
> 
> I'm working on the next chapter now (along with chapter 5 for 'Time') and hope that I can update both over the weekend including my twoshot 'I Hate Everything About You'. As always, let me know whatcha think!? Tons of love!! ^_~


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I finished the chapter and it's a biggie too! The longest thus far! So, I have not looked over this for errors since I do not have time tonight to do so. I did a quick check and hopefully there's nothing too glaringly obvious, if there is then I am sorry and please excuse my messiness! I will look over it again and fix any mistakes once I do.
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy this chapter, its a quite delicious one if I do say so myself. ^_~

 

 

Sansa wished it were Alayne sitting here at the lower tables than herself. Yet another feast was being celebrated for one of the elder men of house Royce, eighty years old, an accomplishment in this day and age. Petyr hadn’t wanted to throw a celebration for the wrinkled old man with his left eye white in blindness while his other eye was what Maester Colemon called a ‘lazy’ eye. Littlefinger felt the Eyrie’s money would be better placed somewhere else, but Lord Nestor Royce insisted they honor the old man. Alayne had witnessed the discord between Petyr and Lord Royce during the ‘discussion’ of the feast.

She glanced around at the many people feasting and dancing, music being played loudly from all four corners of the Hall. Her eyes drew up towards the high tables where Jon sat, drinking wine and picking at his food. He looked as though he was having as much fun as she was. Her cheeks heated when their eyes met before Sansa was averting her eyes back to her nearly full plate of food, trying to will the blush from her cheeks. It had only been two days since he pulled her into that darken corridor, two days since he showed her immense pleasure by way of his mouth.

Sansa still battled with herself over the shame and disgust she felt towards the actions Jon took to her. She was constantly going back and forth over how to feel over the whole situation. Alayne felt she was being too emotional over the whole thing, that she should let nature take its course. Sansa ripped that letter up into little pieces as she held back screams directed to her other self. Let nature take its course? How was any of this natural?! Everything was only happening like this because Alayne took matters into her own hands and did as she pleased!

There was no forethought to the consequences her actions would induce, nor did she stop to think of how wrong pursuing Jon was. He was her half-brother, they shared a father together! He was also the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, he had taken a vow to stay celibate and yet Alayne did not seem to care. They were supposed to stay pure maidens until Harry agreed to a betrothal with her. There was just so many things that Alayne had sought to disrupt and utterly destroy for her own instant gratification and self-interests. What about Sansa? What about her plans of finally going home, of finally escaping? They were slowly going down the drain.

Alayne was supposed to help protect her, to be the strength that Sansa lacked, to be the bastard that she had a hard time enacting. Alayne was supposed to be her shield against the lies, the torment and the abuse, yet she was only succeeding in adding more turmoil to her. As much as she loathed to follow through with Littlefinger’s plans, they were the only thing she had going for her. Jon couldn’t help her, no one could but Petyr.

Sansa allowed her eyes to drift back up to the high table to see a sight that made her pause in fear. Harry had seated himself beside Jon, engaging him in conversation though it didn’t look to be going so well. Jon looked less than interested in talking to Lord Hardyng and Harry looked like he was grinding his teeth as they spoke to each other. Sansa clumsily brought her own wine cup to her lips, spilling some down her throat as she watched them worriedly. She didn’t like her brother being left alone with Harry especially with how Alayne acted towards him.

She looked away to clean the drops of wine sliding down her throat then looked back to flinch when Harry caught her eyes. He smiled charmingly, moving to stand as she turned away again. Sansa mentally cursed as she realized he was heading her way. Glancing about herself, she quickly stuffed some roasted chicken into her mouth, making sure to chew with an open mouth and loudly. Her seated neighbor raised an eyebrow, frowning deeply at her display but she didn’t care. She needed to dissuade Harry from talking to her and if that meant acting disgusting then so be it.

“Lady Alayne,” Harry greeted. Sansa had shoved a large piece of chicken into her mouth then replied with a full mouth, “Lord Hardyng.”

Harry wrinkled his nose at her, almost taking a step back when some food flung from her working jaws. Sansa hated making such a spectacle of herself, but if it warded Harry from further interaction with her then she’d be happy to continue and push the shame away.

“You must be famished by the way you are eating,” Harry commented drily, blinking rapidly as though he couldn’t believe his eyes as he looked at her.

“Very,” she answered between swallowing that large piece of chicken and swallowing a large gulp of wine, making sure to allow it to spill down her throat intentionally.

“I fear if you continue to eat as such you will find your dress fitting quite tightly.” Sansa ignored his jab; her figure was just fine. He was trying to shame her eating habits, but he wasn’t very subtle about it.

“Was there anything you needed, my lord?” Harry watched her for a moment, truly watched her with shrewd eyes that he usually did not possess.

“Yes, I wish to ask you for a dance,” he finally said, turning on the charm as the few women around her watched the scene before them, some sighing softly while others stared with envious eyes. Sansa wished nothing more then to let them jump him, that he was all theirs to have.

“I am quite busy.” Harry snorted at her answer.

“I see, so eating like a pig is what you call being ‘quite busy’?” he inquired with a hard tone then proceeded to take the seat across from her, yanking her plate away with his longs arms to keep her from continuing to eat. “I think you’ve had quite enough.”

“I am feeling full, my lord, so I wish not to dance at the moment,” Sansa stated bullishly, pursing her lips to show her displeasure of his actions then continued with a lamely spoken, “I’m sorry.”

Harry frowned deeply for a mere second before the charming smile was back on his lips then he was leaning over the table, coming closer to her face than she liked. Sansa felt perplexed by his sudden interest and persistence, her eyes glanced back to the high table to see Jon watching without any discretion at all.

“I will not be taking ‘no’ for an answer, nor do I think your father would like that answer either.” Harry smirked smugly, allowing his eyes to drift from her face down to her cleavage that her bodice and corset boosted up.

Sansa clenched her hand around her fork, locating Littlefinger talking among a group of people though his eyes were staring back at her and Harry. He was watching them, and Harry was right, Petyr would be most displeased if she turned down a dance with the heir.

“One dance,” she gritted out angrily, moving to stand as he did though he was smiling triumphantly.

“We will see,” he answered while taking her hand and dragging her towards the dancing bodies of the feast.

Sansa grinded her teeth together as Harry situated his hands, placing one on her lower back and the other in her hand while she lightly pressed her other hand on his shoulder. Harry pulled her closer much to her distain though she held her tongue from saying anything. They started off to the lively music, spinning around and moving among the other dancers. Sansa could feel his hand moving further down her back, causing her to become rather stiff as they moved.

“So, what is it about him that interests you?” Harry suddenly asked, spinning her outward from him then back in with a harsh enough tug that forced her to grasp his shoulder to keep balance. Sansa could hardly miss the satisfied smirk on his lips.

“Why do you care?” she countered lightly, gradually digging her nails into his hand and shoulder the further down his other hand drifted.

“He can’t give you anything, he sworn an oath. Is it because he’s baseborn like you? He understands you more?” Harry continued to pester her as he led the way through the Hall. Sansa moved to let go as the song they started on ended, but he wouldn’t let her, keeping his hold as another started up. “Tell me, Alayne, help me understand this strange fascination you have with that baseborn bastard? Is it the dark hair and eyes?”

Sansa couldn’t help the roll of her eyes, internally blaming Alayne for that characteristic. “Have you ever considered that he’s a great conversationalist? Or that you lack what he has?” Harry instantly frowned at her words, nose flaring in irritation. Sansa dug her nails sharply into his shoulder when his hand brushed her bottom. “I insist you keep your hand above my waist especially with my father watching.”

“You know he has to remain celibate right?” Harry commented, ignoring her words to brush her bottom again, his grip on her hand kept her from pulling away much to her disgust. “I could give you true pleasure in the bedroom, my lady, I could make you happy. Jon Snow,” Harry spat his name out like a curse, “would not know the first thing about pleasing a lady.”

Sansa snorted in laughter, quickly covering her mouth with her free hand to keep the noise from further escaping her. Harry had no idea what he was talking about, Jon knew more about pleasing a woman than he ever would. Myranda might be trying to gain Harry’s favor and betrothal, but Mya wasn’t, and she made sure to tell Sansa all about how well he was at pleasing a lady. The lords and ladies may say Harry is handsome and gallant, but the whispers say he’s selfish, conceited and short-tempered. Sansa was more inclined to believe the whispers before she believed any of the lords and ladies of the court.

“It is unbecoming of a man to compare their bedding styles to another just to entrance a lady, especially one whom has already gotten a bastard on another in the process.” Harry looked taken aback by her snort of laughter then his face slowly turned to a deeply set frown that twisted his dimpled cheeks to harried lines around his mouth that aged him greatly. “I suggest you learn better etiquette if you wish to entice a lady. I may be baseborn, ser, but I will not take to being spoken to, so frankly.”

Sansa pulled her hand from his shoulder while digging the nail of her thumb into his wrist to force him to release her other hand. She swiftly spun around and walked off the dance floor with her head held high. She glanced at Littlefinger to see him frowning at her while looking back at Harry who probably looked rather angry she supposed, she had no inclination to look back and find out. Her eyes then drifted back to the high table where Jon drank his wine while watching her walk away with dark, heated eyes.

A flush came to her cheeks, warming its way down her neck and chest as she completely left the Hall. Strange flutters erupted in her tummy as his gaze remained at the forefront of her mind. Sansa quickly called for a bath once she entered her chambers. She waited patiently for her tub to be filled with water as her mind kept going over the strange flurries in her belly and tingles running through her hands and arms as she thought of Jon, thought of him as a man rather than her brother.

Harry was a pest, but he brought up things she hadn’t wanted to think about. What was it about Jon that attracted Alayne to him? Her counterpart seemed so intent on him, enough so that she would ruin all of Littlefinger’s plans just to have him and Sansa couldn’t figure out why. Then again, Jon was far more interesting than she originally thought growing up. Maybe it was the years they went without knowing each other that made him vastly more interesting than the days of their childhood in Winterfell?

Sansa had to admit, even if only to herself, that Jon was rather handsome. His darken features were more interesting and drew her eyes more than Harry’s lighter features. His long Stark face reminded her greatly of home, reminded her of their father yet that didn’t dissuade the feelings bubbling inside her. If anything, that drew them out more. Maybe it was because he was so familiar in such an unfamiliar place? Sansa had lived in the Vale for almost a year now, but it wasn’t her home, it would never be her home. The walls were too dark of stone, the air too wet and the people so false.

Jon with his Stark look and deep Northern voice brought a sense of home to her. Like the snow castle of Winterfell, she created moons ago, he brought her a strength that she had only known from being within the walls of her real home. The longer his stay became, the more Sansa wished to leave with him. She knew he couldn’t take her with him, she knew and yet she still found it in herself to wish for it.

Her dress fell in a rumpled halo around her feet along with her shift, corset, smallclothes and stockings. The heat of the bath almost rivaled the heat of Jon’s eyes as she slipped into her tub, relaxing within the water. Even if, somehow, someway, she was able to leave with Jon, how could she after what Alayne had done? How could she reveal herself as Sansa Stark to Jon after the things he had done to her with his mouth?

The first thing he would do is feel shame and embarrassment then disgust at her because truly he would probably not understand who Alayne was in comparison to Sansa; she would be one in the same in his eyes.

There had been the idea of never revealing herself to him, yet she couldn’t continue to dye her hair forever and once more, he was a man of the Night’s Watch. He cannot hold no lands, father no children or marry, so even if she continued the charade of being Alayne, what would that truly accomplish in the end? Nothing. She would be back at square one instead without anywhere to go and no one to help her as Alayne Stone.

Sansa closed her eyes as hot tears welled in the corners. She felt so trapped, so caged in by the impregnable high mountains of the Eyrie and Vale. Trapped within the existence of Alayne Stone and even trapped within the disgraced name that was Sansa Stark. Why had fate been so harsh on her? Was it for her attitude as a child? Did she bring down all this pain, torment and suffering upon herself for not being happy with what she already had? Was this the price for previous conceit and judgement?

She truly hoped not. She truly hoped this was not her punishment for being naïve and a child. So young and sheltered from the horrors of the outside world beyond the North. Sometimes Sansa faulted her parents for keeping her so sheltered and confined while other times she cherished the love they had for all of them that they would keep them sheltered from the very horrors Sansa had to endure once her father was gone and she was alone.

By the time she could remove herself from the tub, the water had grown tepid. Little bumps formed on her skin as she quickly dried and dressed for bed. Sansa curled up into a tight little ball on her bed after braiding her hair, her knees closed up to her chest as she closed her eyes. She wished for many things that would never come true, she wished for her father and mother to live again, she wished for Robb to save her from King’s Landing, she wished to hold Arya in her arms and never let her go, she wished for her little brothers and the games they had played. She wished and wished and wished and wished, but none of them would ever come true. They were all gone but her.

All gone but her and Jon…

 

\---------------------------------------------------------

 

Her smallclothes have been soaked all day. Alayne fidgeted and shifted, pursing her lips together in mild annoyance as she listened to each petition as patiently as she could. Sweetrobin was seated in the high seat with her father by his side, swaying the decisions as per-usual. Alayne was seated beside the little lord, ankles crossed primly, and hands settled idly in her lap. She was the prime example of a lady at that moment in time, taking note from Sansa, of course.

She hadn’t seen Jon all day and it bothered her greatly. He would be departing soon, in a fortnight to be precise and she wanted to spend as much time with the Lord Commander as possible before he was to take his leave. Alayne had woken up that morning with mixed feelings running through her, feelings that had clearly came from Sansa rather than her. Even the dream she woke up from had been from her other half. It had been very sensual in natural and Alayne hadn’t missed the little fact that Jon happened to star in it, on his knees much like she did for him.

Remembering the dream only caused her rather bothersome predicament though. Sansa had a wet dream about her brother, one that may be based on true events. Alayne knew Sansa too well though to know that she couldn’t have come up with that idea on her own and she knew for a fact that her father hadn’t done such a thing to her…yet.

Alayne closed her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath of air to help keep her relaxed. He had gotten handsy the other day, stating he was adjusting her bodice because it was crooked, she knew better though. His hands had cupped her breasts as her father tilted the bodice of her dress, lingering longer than was necessary before forcing an even longer, lingering kiss on her lips. He then made a quipping comment on the increase in size of her bosom before taking his leave. Alayne wanted nothing more than to take a scorching bath after that, but she couldn’t. Instead she spent the rest of that day avoiding her father at every turn and talking to Myranda to get her mind off that morning.

Once her eyes opened, she centered her mind again and went back to her current state of soiled smallclothes courtesy of Sansa and her sexual dream involving Jon Snow. Alayne could have easily thought it was her dream instead had it not been for one small thing.

He had called out ‘Sansa’ when he peaked.

It would have been her name if it were her dream, she knew because she had quite a few of them starring Jon to speak of. This was the first time that Sansa had such a dream though. It tickled Alayne to wake up to soiled smallclothes and a throbbing ache of want between her legs. It didn’t take much to bring her to peak as she remembered the dream she had woken up from.

Jon had dragged Sansa to the edge of his bed, draping her long legs over his shoulders then buried his face into her cunt. It felt real, the way he flicked his tongue through her folds and nuzzled her nub with his nose. He seemed to spend hours down there, learning every fold, every curve and every way to drive her further and further into oblivion. She must have peaked five times in her dream before Jon crawled up Sansa’s prone form, burying himself inside her. She shifted and jolted with his heavy movements before leaning down to moan her name into her ear as he peaked.

Alayne woke up in a lusty sweat from such a heated dream. She wondered if Sansa knew about the dream, if she would even remember it the next time she came out, but Alayne figured she wouldn’t and that was a shame too. It was hard trying to break the Stark girl from her set ways. What difference did it make that Jon was her half-brother? Only by half and it wasn’t as if they looked alike for it to be so horrid like the Lannisters. Alayne failed to see why Sansa couldn’t see how great her brother was, how amazing he could be and loving in all the right ways.

But if this dream was any indication then maybe she was finally getting through to Sansa. Alayne wouldn’t put all her eggs into one basket though. Jon was still leaving in two weeks then she would probably never see him again. She swallowed thickly at the thought, clenching her fingers tightly together to ease the ache forming inside her chest. Then her father would have his way and she’ll be wed to Harry before too long.

Sansa. Sansa will be wed to Harry before too long, Alayne amended bitterly.

That brought a whole other set of worries she had no wish to think about. Suddenly Sweetrobin started to shout, standing up on the seat to stomp his feet as he pointed an accusing finger at one of the lords whom had said something to anger the little lord. Her father arched a brow at her and with a sigh, she stood from her position to whisper gentle words into his ear, helping to ease him from his temper and back into calmness. He was reluctant at first, but then something caught his eye and he smiled, immediately settling back into his seat and even issuing a surprising apology to the lord.

Alayne looked out to find out what had caused such a rapid change in the boy only to find Jon, standing among the other lords though he was further back, leaning casually against the way. He was looking straight at Sweetrobin with a stern arch of his brow before it eased into a smile. Of course, it was Jon. The little lord had become quite attached to the Lord Commander where most of the time Alayne had to share his attention with Sweetrobin. Jon had the patience to repeat himself and instruct Sweetrobin with a gentleness that kept him calm and attentive while also a brand of sternness that brought an obedience that even her father struggled to gain from the boy.

Jon had yet to tell the little lord when he planned to depart from the Vale and Alayne dreaded when that day came for both her and the boy. There were a few more petitions to hear then her father announced the end of the day, stating that Sweetrobin needed his mid-afternoon nap. They stayed put though, watching as the lords all filed out. Jon stayed in his position, waiting to be the last to leave. She managed to catch his eye as he left, sending him a grateful smile for his appearance.

“You did well today, Lord Arryn,” her father declared sweetly. There was a strain in his cheek though, tightly wounded and barely containing his clear irritation. It didn’t even take Alayne a second to realize it wasn’t Sweetrobin he was annoyed with, it was Jon.

“Thank you,” he mumbled happily, turning to beam at her before getting off the seat with a help from her hand.

“You did well, but not great, my Sweetrobin. You must control your temper.” He frowned down at the floor, nodding his head as he squeezed Alayne’s fingers.

“Jon says I should channel my temper, to make me stronger and braver,” Sweetrobin said sturdily, letting go of her hand and direct his eyes on her father whom looked less than thrilled to hear those words. “I want to be strong like him!”

“You are right, he is strong, but he is also still a bastard,” Petyr stated bitingly, wrinkling his nose slightly as they stepped down to the main floor.

“I don’t care! Alayne’s a bastard too and she’s strong!” She smiled at his words then looked back at her father. He was eyeing her over, mouth in a firm line and eyes ever shrewd.

“Yes, she is, but that won’t be for very long…” he breeched the gap between them to lightly cup her cheek, swiping his thumb across her skin with his snake of a smile coming to his lips. “If we are lucky then she’ll have a true name very soon and she will be Stone no more.”

Alayne dunked her head, pulling away from her father’s touch to exit with Sweetrobin and help put him to his nap. Her skin crawled not only from his touch, but also from his words. Don’t think about Alayne, don’t think about it, she thought desperately as she held Sweetrobin’s hand while they traveled through the halls. Still she couldn’t hide from her thoughts as the little lord took his nap, watching over him briefly before leaving. She couldn’t hide from the thoughts forcing their way into her mind and sounding around her skull until she acknowledged them.

There were very few things that Alayne feared, being a bastard helped to force her to be brave and secure in herself. It was easier to adept to situations when they arise for her because of her status in life, but that didn’t mean she was totally fearless. She feared her father and his advances towards her though she hid it well (for the most part). She feared snakes though that meant little to nothing when so high up in the mountains as she was. But the thing that she feared most of all, the thing that drives her to fight for control overall was the thought of disappearing.

Once Harry agreed to the betrothal, once Tyrion Lannister is found, convicted and dead, once those things happened and aligned to Petyr’s plan, that was when Sansa Stark could come out from hiding. That was when she would never need Alayne Stone to hide behind, she would no longer need Alayne at all.

Sansa’s a strong person, Alayne grudgingly admits, but nowhere near her strength of will and mind. But once the plans neared completion then what will happen to Alayne? She was strong, she knew, but Sansa was the original and once she is allowed to be herself, where did that leave Alayne?

Gone, unneeded, useless…

Alayne shuddered, her eyes watering against her will. It was like dying except no one, but Sansa would know and would she even care? Alayne thought not, especially with the way she was running Sansa’s life thus far. But…but if she could somehow convince Jon to take them, to allow them to live at the wall then she would never have to disappear because Sansa would be forced to stay as Alayne regardless. It was foolish, she knew. Sansa was the dreamer, the wisher, not her, not Alayne the practical, logical one. Yet she found herself dreaming of it happening, of hoping and wishing for Jon to steal her away in the night like the wildlings beyond the Wall did. It was wishful thinking though.

With much effort, Alayne pushed back her miserable thoughts instead she focused on looking for the man she thought of the most. She found him in the courtyard, talking to a few lords that lingered after the petitions and enjoying the very brief sunlight that the clear day was allowing them. She thought of joining them, of going down there to speak with Jon for a bit, but she saw her father there also. He hadn’t seen Alayne yet as she stepped back towards the shadows of the balcony she was on. He was watching Jon as he interacted with the lords, particularly Nestor Royce whom was smiling broadly at the young Lord Commander.

The cold made her wet smallclothes freeze against her skin, reminding her of the dream and more. With a secretive smile, she turned away from the courtyard, escaping inside and moving down the hall towards the guest corridors where a center Night’s Watch Commander’s chambers happened to be…

  

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“Hello Jon.” He jumped at her voice as he shut the door, eyes widening as he took her in. Alayne was perfectly perched upon his writing desk, her dress folded over the chair as she sat in only her smallclothes and stockings, and nothing else. She smiled widely when she noticed his eyes drifting down to her bared breasts, the cold making her nipples protrude and stiffen.

“Alayne,” he mumbled, blinking rapidly before forcing his eyes back to hers. “What are you doing?”

“Waiting for you.” His brows immediately hung down over his eyes as his lips pursed into a thin line, stretching the scars on his face as he stared her down. Alayne didn’t faultier though, casually leaning back on her arms to jut her breasts out entrancingly.

“I see, and why would you wait for me in such an unclothed state?” he continued to ask, staying put by the door. She didn’t like how far away he was, she wanted him to approach her, but he seemed rather reluctant to do so.

“I would dare not to comment upon your observations, Jon, you are not that dim,” Alayne remarked smoothly, giving him her impish smile that usually won him over. This time though, it didn’t seem to be the case.

Jon cautiously walked away from the door, moving first towards his bed with his back turned to her then with a stiffening of his shoulders, he turned around with a shrewd focus he was known for.

“I made a vow,” Jon started, crossing his arms over his chest as though that could keep his control. It probably could, she observed, but she could break that control, she had done it once before.

“Vows are made to be broken, and who is going to hold you, Lord commander to it?” she fired back. “My honor.” The room grew silent between them. Alayne cocked her head to the side, watching him between the strands of her fallen hair; she remained undeterred.

“Your honor will get you killed if you are not careful,” she answered darkly though with a smile still on her lips to show her amusement at his weak defense.

Jon sighed deeply, closing his eyes as air escaped his tightly clenched teeth, “Alayne.”

“Your honor didn’t stop you from bedding me,” Alayne bit out, her nails digging into the wood of the desk beneath her, “nor did it stop you from taking my maidenhead, now did it?” She felt regretful of her words when his face fell, and his hands balled into the black fabric of his doublet.

“That…that was a mistake, I should never-Don’t! Don’t you ever say that was a mistake!” Her shout echoed through the empty space between them, filling the silence for a mere second before disappearing into thin air. She jutted her chin out, staring down her nose at him with angry eyes.

“I want you, Jon and I know you want me. If not, that is alright, I can be whomever you want me to be.” Jon sighed again with closed eyes, looking quite in pain as he said, “Alayne, please.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t want me, Jon Snow.” Her utterance sounded more like a plea than a declaration. Alayne felt that desperate edge from earlier grab a hold of her heart, gripping the fragile thing tightly within its grip.

Embarrassingly her arms started to shake, revealing her supposed relaxed position to be false as she barely held herself together. She had approached him in the halls with such determination, not letting him get a word in edgewise, but this time she was giving him a choice in the matter, one of clear mind to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Alayne hadn’t thought that he might lean towards ‘no’ though.

“Alayne,” Jon tried again, gazing at her so sadly as his own body started to quake.

“I won’t beg for it, Jon. I won’t.”

Before the words had entirely cleared her mouth they were shoved back in his lips. In a blink of an eye he had crossed the gap between them, his hands planted on either side of her hips as he pressed into her to reach her lips. Alayne latched on to him quickly, curling one fist in his hair and the other in the back of his doublet as they molded their mouths together. His tongue was soft and hot and wet as it entered her mouth, swiping across her teeth before confronting her tongue to wrap around and rub against.

Her moan burrowed between their pressed chests as she accepted his biting kisses and battling tongue, accepted the heat of his body seeping into her skin and the press of his hand upon her back to keep her clinging to him. Alayne moved her legs to wrap around his hips, crossing her ankles to pull him in and press him against her moist smallclothes to show him what he does to her. Jon groaned within her mouth, giving her long dark hair a rough tug as he twisted her lips away from his mouth to kiss her jaw before biting her neck. He swiftly released her hair, his hands moving down to cup underneath her thighs.

“No,” she said, grabbing at his hands and leaning back to keep him from lifting her off the desk. “No, take me here on your desk, so when you write you’ll think of me.” Jon answered in a deeply drawn growl that worked from his chest up his throat and through his mouth.

He cupped her breast, letting Alayne work his doublet apart, button by button. She wanted to just rip his doublet apart instead, but the buttons came loose quickly, the fabric more worn upon closer inspection than she thought. It reminded her for a moment that she wanted to make something for him, something to remember her by. A pinch to her nipple brought her back, she pushed down his doublet, forcing his hand off her breast to be rid of the article of clothing. His loose tunic came off easier.

Jon groaned his appreciation, groaning even more into her breast with his mouth latching onto her nipple to suckle and bite. Alayne bit her lip to hold back her moans though gasps and whines managed to escape regardless. She pushed Jon’s mouth further against her, watching as he opened his mouth to suck more of her breast within. The flick and swipe of his tongue sent chills and tingles down her spine. She kept him held there by the back of his head while she tugged and pulled at his breeches, aiming to get them off as fast as she possibly could. She succeeded, forcing them down with haste. Jon released her breast with a sharp nip into the bud, causing a loud whine to escape her.

Alayne dragged his mouth back to her lips, devouring any noises that left him while using her toes to tug and pull at his smallclothes. Jon grabbed her own, tugging once then twice then he ripped the wet fabric from her body so easily. It shocked her how strong he truly was. Jon smirked into her lips, kissing the ‘o’ of her lips before she wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him down with her. She laid upon the wood, forcing him to lean down over her heavily.

“Do you want me, Jon Snow?” Alayne asked breathlessly, scratching her nails through his unruly hair, his eyes lifted to bore into hers. What was once grey had turned completely black, eaten away by his lust.

“Aye, I do,” Jon answered huskily, tugging his smallclothes down his legs as he braced himself above her.

“Show me. Show me you want me,” Alayne all but demanded.

Jon blinked once at her then she felt him push into her until his hips were flush against her thighs and his cock was buried within the heat of cunt. Alayne mumbled, “Show me,” again as he started to thrust back and forth. It started off slow, easing them both into the movement and feeling of their joining before his tempo gain after each press and pull.

Her breasts shifted and rolled with the movements, entrancing his eyes as he hovered above her. His hands were planted beneath her arms and against the sides of her chest to keep her somewhat in place. Each hard thrust of his hips jolted her slightly up the desk before her body moved back down to the swaying pull of his rutting before starting again. It felt more fluid this time than the last, more control, she thought. Possibly because they were both not inebriated, allowing for more control of their bodies.

The walls of her cunt fluttered against the rubbing of his cock, warming and tingling with each thrust and bringing her ever closer to her peak. Alayne could feel her wetness leaking onto the wood, making her slide. She clung tighter to his hips to keep from sliding away. Without realizing it, her eyes had closed and upon opening them she gazed into the heated stare of Jon’s dark eyes. The continued connection between their eyes made their coupling more intimate, producing more heat throughout her body and a headiness to his thrusts.

Suddenly, like the snapping of her ties when Jon ripped her smallclothes from her body, she was torn into her peak, her body quaking as she cried out his name. He thrusted faster for a few more ruts then pulled out just as he peaked, squirting his seed onto her belly and even some landing on a breast.

His chambers were darker appearing, it had been late afternoon, nearing supper when he entered and now it was well into the dining hour, but Alayne wasn’t hungry. She was more than sated. Jon pulled back to stand up, watching as she rubbed his seed into her skin, picking some up from her belly to drop on her tongue and savor his taste. Jon quickly snatched her up against him, claiming her mouth for his before lifting her off the desk to walk back to his bed.

He landed on his back with her cradled on his chest. It took some maneuvering between them to get in the center of his bed with the covers pulled over them. Alayne rubbed into his chest, wrapping an arm around him as sleep tugged at her eyes. Before she knew it, she was asleep…

 

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Sansa blinked slowly, the feeling of being well-rested came upon her. She was on her stomach, hair loose and face pressed harshly into a pillow. She moved her legs a little and felt the familiar wetness between them then she noticed the heat beside her, including the hot skin pressed against hers. Her face slowly scrunched up as she realized she was naked and a cursory glance of the room told her it wasn’t her own. If that wasn’t much of a clue, then the hand smoothly touching her back helped immensely.

She froze for a moment before forcing her body to relax. Feeling the rough calluses of the hand touching her, she knew without a doubt it was Jon. No other lord had hands quite like his, nor would Alayne jump into bed with just anybody. It was only Jon that she would, only him.

“How’d you get these?” Jon asked beside her. She was turned away from him still and for a moment she was confused as to what he was referring to. It came upon her when she felt his finger glide over a well-known scar that graced the back of her right shoulder, down possibly six inches in length.

Jon was touching it softly, his fingers following the darken line from bottom to top. Sansa swallowed hard, remembering how she got that particular one. It was the darkest of her scars that littered her back from the beatings Joffrey gave her for Robb’s wins. Ser Trant had used his sword that time, slapping it so carelessly against her naked back that when he pulled it off her the tip had slipped down, probably on purpose and sliced her. Sansa remembered the next hit of the flat end of the blade for crying so loudly at the cut he gave her. She was refused care for the wound for a day and half before Tyrion demanded the Maester see her.

By then the wound had started healing on its own, scabbing over. Maester Pycelle has tsked then ripped the scabbing away to put ointment over the reopened wound. Sansa wondered if he also purposely did that to make the scarring worse. They were all cruel in their own way, so very, very cruel. Tears welled up in her eyes as she thought of a lie to tell him, the truth was not an option for many reasons, but most of all because she couldn’t bear to repeat the incident outside of her mind.

“Septa’s can be cruel…and so can men,” Sansa uttered softly, a few tears escaped her eyes to drift a slow trail down her cheeks and into the pillow.

His fingers stopped moving as he became silent, absorbing her words in quiet left behind. Sansa breathed in deeply, willing away the awful memories that pestered her mind. It was in the past now, and she hoped this would be the last time it was visited. Jon shifts beside her, moving closer. Sansa takes another breath then moves her head to face him; finally. He watches her for some time, just gazing into her eyes endlessly with no words spoken between them. It was comfortable though and comforting in the way he held her eyes, never looking away as though she was not worth his stare, not worth looking at. It made a warmth blossom in her chest, drawing a calmness over her that she didn’t realize she needed. Slowly a smile came to his lips, he then shifts again, and Sansa feels something against her hip.

A blush heats her face when she realizes it’s his manhood. It’s hot against her hip and solid and so much bigger than she had expected. Not that Sansa had thought much about it, or so she told herself. Jon propped himself up on his elbow, cupping his chin as he stared at her again.

“You know,” he started thoughtfully, bringing his hand back to trail his fingers along her back. Sansa held back the flinches when his fingers brushed some raised bumps of scar tissue, he didn’t seem to notice, or at least he didn’t acknowledge them on her skin. The thought brought another bloom of warmth inside her. “Sometimes I feel like there’s two of you,” Jon finished.

“Really?” Sansa asked as that warmth was quickly replaced by the cold grip of fear. She kept her face neutral though and his fingers had left her back just as she froze from her fear. Jon reached up to brush her loose hair out of her face, “Aye,” he said with a nod.

“There’s bold Alayne who takes what she wants like that day you led me down that corridor and got on your knees.” Sansa watches in amazement as his face started to redden at the memory. Hers heated as well, but more from the fact that Alayne had done such a thing, her eyes suddenly widen. Is that why he got down on his knees for me? Sansa shuddered as she realized that must have been the case, it was too out of character for Jon to do such a thing out of nowhere. “And there,” he points, “that’s the other Alayne; shy, polite and sweet. I feel like I know this Alayne best.”

Sansa blinked rapidly as worry took over the fear. Were they truly that different from each other? She hadn’t thought it obvious, but then Jon had gotten very intimate with Alayne and her on different occasions, both in conversation and sexual coupling. A brush of lips touching her shoulder, over the dark scar there brought her out of her worries. Jon was leaning into her now, pressing light, soothing kisses into her scar. Half of her wanted to pull away, it was wrong and far too intimate for them to be doing, but the other half…was it Alayne’s influence? Was she breaching over into Sansa without her knowing? Because the other half of her wish to remain still, to endure his lovely kisses and so much more.

It was wrong, but it felt so right.

Jon kissed up her scar to her shoulder blade then her jaw that made her gasp. He caught her eyes for a mere moment then he was kissing her lips. Sansa meant to pull back, to move away but she pushed in and held still. Their lips pressed and puckered, kissing soft, closed mouth kisses that sent lovely tingles running through her lips and down her body towards her fingers and toes and back again. She could feel his hand trailing down her back once more, following the different lines of scarring, but his sweet lips kept her from thinking about them, she could only enjoy both his touch and his kiss.

They stayed that way for many minutes, so many that when Jon pulled away Sansa felt dizzy and drunk from his kisses and her lips felt pumper and wet. He only pulled back enough to speak, saying, “I’d like to try a new position, if you are willing.”

“What kind of position?” Sansa inquired cluelessly before realizing he meant sexually. She swallowed hard, her mind at a scatter as to what to do. What could she do? She could say ‘no’, decline and say she was sore. But that other half of her thought otherwise, wanting to continue what they were doing and more, much, much more.

Sansa felt at a standstill, but as Jon leaned into her, pressing his lips to her cheek she knew if she said ‘no’ that he would stop, he would tell her it was okay then possibly cuddle with her until she had to leave. It was the right thing to do, Sansa thought, if she decided otherwise then she’d be taking advantage of him since he didn’t know her identity, right?

“On your hands and knees,” Jon said with a thick accent, voice sounding husky and heated as his fingers continued down her back and over her butt, cupping a cheek and giving a squeeze.

“You want to fuck me like a dog?!” Sansa couldn’t help but screech in shock, rearing back from him. His hand continued down, following the split between her cheeks before touching the folds of her cunt with his rough fingertips.

“No, not a dog.” A glint flashed in Jon’s eyes as a smirk appeared on his lips. He leaned closer to her, bringing his lips and hot breath to her ear to say, “I want to fuck you like a wolf.”

A shiver made its way down her back. The thought of Jon behind her, taking her like a wolf for some strange reason made her wetter. Suddenly the thought of how wrong this all is went away and her thoughts were consumed by wanting him to do exactly that. Be brave, bastard brave, you are Alayne, she reminded herself as Jon took in her nod of consent before helping her get into position.

As she gets on her hands and knees, cool air rippling across her revealed skin as the covers fell away, Sansa realized something. She had never experienced sex before. It wouldn’t be like a first bedding since she was not a maiden, but it would be a first time for her in control. Jon’s fingers came back to cunt, running through her folds before rubbing a slow, tight circle on her nub that made her legs shake. She looked down beyond her hanging breasts to see his hand moving on her, rubbing and stroking.

Little gasps and tiny moans echoed through her throat as he continued to touch her, making her wetter. While he touched her, she went back and forth about going through with this, fighting with herself over the morals and sins of their actions. Then she agonized over her inaction of allowing this but wanting it anyway. Jon’s touching was helping to push those thoughts away, to keep her from thinking too hard on anything but what he was doing to her.

Sansa felt his hand drift off her, bringing disappointment and want for him to come back. She almost told him to not stop, but then she felt something blunt and big touch her folds, pushing them aside as he moved forward. Sansa gasped in shock as she realized it was his cock, pushing into her. It was so solid and hot, so much bigger than his fingers had been, filling her up in a way she hadn’t known she craved. Jon held her hips tightly in his hands as he penetrated her until he was fully inside. She felt full, she felt complete.

He fits me so perfectly, like we were meant to be like this, Sansa thought breathlessly, her fingers curling into the sheets on the bed at such a strange and amazing feeling. Jon pulled back, pulling his cock almost out of her then he was pushing forward back in. He started at a steady rate, shocking Sansa further at the intense feeling that was sex. She felt ripples of pleasure moving through her nerves, similar to when he touched her nub, but not as strongly. It was pleasant though. It was no wonder Alayne liked it so much to want it again.

Jon started picking up speed, pumping into her harder and harder, his grip on her hips ever tighter. Sansa breathed out deeply, holding on as she enjoyed the sensations running through her. Before she could stop herself, she moaned his name loud enough for him to hear. Embarrassment colored her cheeks, but Jon reacted by pulling into his pounding hips, bringing forth a more intense pleasure.

“You’re so beautiful, so sweet,” Jon said deeply, pounding his cock into her with more speed. He leaned over her suddenly, releasing her hip with one hand to trail it underneath her belly then he was fingering her nub again, increasing her pleasure tenfold.

“Jon!” Sansa moaned out, dropping her arms and face into her pillow to keep from calling out more. Jon just stroked her nub and thrusted into her cunt as more words spilled from his lips, “I’ve wanted you like this, before me like a wolf, taking me like a wolf.”

Sansa whined at his words, her thighs quivering as her peak built up more and more. “You’re so sweet, you know that? So sweet to taste and fuck,” Jon trailed off with a deep groan. The loud slapping of flesh on flesh surrounded them, intensifying the experience and bringing her that much closer to a peak. Sansa felt a pinch on her numb and she was going off the ledge, crying out Jon’s name a third time and pushing her hips back to meet his.

Her peak lingered as he fucked her, stroking her fluttering muscles and seeking his own peak. He pulled back with another groan, but Sansa followed aimlessly, impaling herself on his cock once more. The feeling of heat filled her inside, but it wasn’t the normal one she had encountered with Jon, this was different. Jon rutted a little into her before slumping down on her until her legs gave out and they landed on their sides.

As she feels that heat leaking out of her swollen folds in a way that felt like her moon’s blood, she felt Jon bury his face into her scarred shoulder, mumbling a soft, “Sansa.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait...did he just say 'Sansa'???????
> 
> Muahahahahahaha!! Cliffhanger!! Sorry, not sorry! Sansa once more putting Harry in his place (that was so much fun to write, easy portion of this story, I tell ya). So there's some motivation on Alayne's part for why she pursues Jon both for wanting him and because of her fear that once Sansa doesn't need her anymore that she'll disappear which is quite sad when you think about it. Alayne wants Jon and Jon tries to be a good Night's Watch man, but he fails because he wants Alayne too much as well. Then we have Sansa having an intimate moment with Jon before getting fucked like a wolf. All in all, I say this was a good chapter! Let me know whatcha think!!?? ^_~


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, sorry! I totally meant to have this done a few days ago, but got sidetracked by life. Anyways, I am so happy with this story and I am so happy that so many people are enjoying reading it as much I am writing it! That said, I must give some warning for this chapter!
> 
> First off, angst...lots and lots of angst! Second, there is some dub-con briefly in the form of kissing and touching by Littlefinger (creepyfinger), yuck, I feel like I need to bathe again after that. I think that is all the warning needed though! 
> 
> Also-Also!! I will be participating in the Dark!Jon event on July 14th-15th, I already have a oneshot I've been meaning to finish prepared and I am so excited for it!! And I will be working on the final chapter for 'Traveling the Middle Ground' and another oneshot that will feature Dark!Sansa in it. Then, hopefully, I will be setting my sights on continuing 'Time'.
> 
> This continues where I left off from the last chapter, I hope y'all enjoy!! ^_~

 

 

 

Sansa completely froze, her mind went utterly numb as ice cold fear slithered down her spine. Her heart seemed to stutter at first, skipping heavily inside her chest before it started up a quick rhythm that made her sick to her stomach as she tried to comprehend what she had just heard Jon say. He said her name, not Alayne’s but hers; Sansa. Whatever bliss she had felt from their coupling had completely evaporated into thin air. She shifted her legs and felt that strange sensation leaking from between the lips of her sex, another worry to add to the list as she realized Jon had peaked inside her.

“What’s wrong, your stiff?” Jon questioned tiredly, pressing another kiss into her skin as though that would ease the tension in her muscles.

“Why did you call me that?” Sansa asked breathlessly, it felt hard to breath, like the very air was thinner than normal. She felt Jon move, lifting himself up though that didn’t mean his hot skin wasn’t still pressed against hers. He stroked her hip down to her thigh as she waited on bated breath for him to answer.

“You…” he started slowly then stopped and when she looked over her shoulder she could see a frown on his lips and brow, he looked a bit perplexed before continuing, “You said you would be anyone I wanted…I.” Jon immediately pulled away as his eyes widen. “I shouldn’t have said anything, I’m sorry, Alayne.”

Sansa twisted around onto her back, reaching out to grab a hold of his arm to keep him from leaving the bed. Her fear had dissipated quickly, and her heart started to slow down, beat by beat. Still she felt that fear linger in hiding, waiting to come upon her once more. Relief sizzled underneath her skin, elevating the residue of fear into evaporating in the air, leaving her slightly light headed at how abrupt it came about. He didn’t know who she was? Sansa wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but she wouldn’t put it pass Alayne to try and entice him to couple with her again if he were reluctant. “Wait, Jon, its fine.”

“You’re upset,” he stated rigidly, settling back down on the bed but with a good foot between them. Sansa bit the inside of her cheek, she was upset because she feared he knew who she was, but then that brought up more questions than answers. Why had he called her name out after peaking? Something so intimate that was shared between lovers, not siblings. Her heart started up another quicken rhythm.

“Who was she?” she asked instead of acknowledging his words. Who am I, Jon? Who am I to you? Jon frowned, glancing away for a moment. She was sure he’d ignore her question, but then he slouched further down until his head was placed on the pillow, sliding a bit closer to her.

“She was…someone I cared about; family. You know whose bastard I am right?” Sansa nodded, opting to stay quiet as he worked his words together. “Sansa…Sansa Stark, my half-sister.” He said it so despairingly, sighing ‘my half-sister’ as though he wished otherwise, as though he regretted their relation. Sansa closed her eyes tightly as she felt tears well in her eyes, she knew she hadn’t always been the best sister for him, always keeping her distance because of their difference in status.

Honestly, at times it seemed like he hadn’t known how to behave around her anymore than she did. She sometimes felt at a loss as to what to say to Jon, how they should interact with each other though by societies beliefs she shouldn’t interact with him at all and then there was her lady mother and her feelings towards her husband’s bastard son. Sansa tried to be polite when she interacted with Jon, but they were so rare and far between, it didn’t leave much for their impressions of each other, she supposed. Yet she had never truly regretted Jon as her brother, as her father’s mistake, she still thought of him as family, so it hurt to think that he didn’t want that from her.

“She was always the lady in everything she did, always out for perfection…and I was her imperfect half-brother that her lady mother hated,” Jon drifted off for a moment, lost in his memories. Sansa opened her eyes as she heard the way his voice sounded when he talked about her, it wasn’t with that despair like earlier, it was nicer, sweeter. She stared at him for a moment as she brought up memories of her childhood.

He was right, she was always the lady, searching endlessly for perfection in everything she did. She wanted to be the perfect lady, one that a gallant prince or brave knight would instantly fall in love with. It was silly, she thinks now, but reaching those rather high expectations she laid out for herself made her so happy and proud. It was like a mile stone to go by for how much closer she was to perfection, to her biggest dreams. But…

But she never once thought of Jon as imperfect, not in the way he seemed to think himself as. He always seemed so sad and lost whenever she noticed him around the grounds of Winterfell, or in the great hall. He was always subdued and withdrawn most times, opting to keep his head down. Sansa knew now that it was from growing up as a bastard, but back then she had felt he just didn’t know his place in the world and she sought to help him, if only just a little. Good ladies were always charitable, and Sansa wanted to be perfect.

She had approached Jon after seeing the sullen expression on his face as girls littered around Robb and Theon, vying for their attention while he stood on the sidelines or in the shadows. She wanted to help him, to be a good lady, so she came to him with words of kindness and advice. Jon had seemed so reluctant to take it, always looking over his shoulder as though her mother would appear and scold him.

Sansa glanced down to see Jon twiddling his fingers in the sheet that he pulled over them while she was lost in her thoughts. Slowly, gently she reached over and took his hand into hers, hoping to soothe his anxious thoughts and memories. She waited until he was looking at her, waited until she had his attention to ask him the burning question of hers, “why did you say her name?”

Jon swallowed harshly, clenching his fingers around hers as his eyes shut tightly. “I…I always thought she was beautiful, radiant…” Jon gave a harsh self-deprecating laugh while Sansa felt a choking gasp inside her chest at the way he called her ‘radiant’. “I’m as impure as I am imperfect, thinking of her when I find pleasure in you…disgraceful and disgusting…” Sansa breathed out steadily, inching closer to lay against him until her head rested against his shoulder. She didn’t know what to say to that. He was right, it was wrong, disgraceful and disgusting, but then she was already all those things for allowing this to happen. She was no better, if nothing else Sansa was worse because she was lying to him even now as she soothed him.

When did the lie end? Never. She had no choice in that matter.

“You remind me of Sansa,” Jon said softly, drawing her attention back on him.

“What?” she questioned as she pulled back to gaze up at him. He smiled though it seemed more like a grimace, his lips not entirely turning up from the frown that dominated his face.

“Shy, polite, sweet Alayne, you remind me of the Sansa from my childhood. She was distant towards me, but we hadn’t much in common to begin with, her a lady and me a bastard, but she was always kind and polite. She even went out of her way to help me talk to girls once.” Jon laughed though it was lighter than his earlier one, his face lightened up from it. “She spent hours talking to me then forced me to compliment five girl’s names until she was satisfied. Ugh,” Jon groaned as he remembered his embarrassment. Sansa could remember the way he stubbornly told her ‘no’ but she out stubborn him and got her way; she always got her way back then. “I had never been so embarrassed, but the smile she gave me when the last girl kissed my cheek…she was so proud and that made me happy.”

Sansa tried willing away the wetness in her eyes as she heard his voice spoken so softly as he told her these things, told her how much she affected him when she thought almost nothing of it. She was just helping the helpless, just being polite, charitable and a lady. Sansa was just trying to be good and perfect, but it seems her intentions had a larger effect on Jon than she thought. Warmth spread throughout her body, filling her up and soothing her.

“It sounds like you really love her…”

Jon removed his hand from hers, moving to wrap it around her body to pull her up against him. Sansa settled onto his chest, her fingers idly playing with the hairs there. “Aye, I did, but she’s gone now…their all gone now…”

Once more Sansa had no words to say, she only clutched at him more as a quiet came over them. Jon seemed to be soothed by her embrace though, settling down into slow breathing. She wasn’t surprised to find that he fell asleep, finding comfort in her arms. She wished she could go back to sleep, but she couldn’t. There was too much going on in her head, too much dilemma waging an endless war on her conscious and she needed to go back to her chambers soon before the rest of the castle woke up. Yet she couldn’t remove herself from him, she felt too warm in his touch, so very loved in a way she hadn’t been in so long.

Conflict of her heart was making things less clear-cut than they should be. Jon would be leaving soon, he didn’t know who she really was, and he couldn’t help her anyway. That didn’t stop the hazy lines of want that seemed to cloud Sansa’s mind whenever she was in his presence. Being with Jon felt like the impossible could happen, that she could reveal herself and he would be more than happy. He all but admitted to having sinful feelings for her, feelings that existed as they grew up together. Half of her wanted to be so disgusted by him, wanted to retch into a chamber pot at the foulness of his desire for her.

The other half of her though…

Sansa tucked her head into his neck, feeling the hot burning wetness of tears in her eyes as she finally, truly admitted to herself that she wanted Jon as he is. She wanted her half-brother as her lover, as her one and only, wanted him as she would a husband. He was everything she never thought she wanted and yet she did. That’s where the most conflict came in because she couldn’t have him, not as a lover, not as a husband and most certainly not as a brother as men of the watch had no families beyond the brothers they meet at the Wall. He was not hers to have at all and that hurt far worse than her predicament at the Vale or even from King’s Landing.

Sansa wanted him, but she could not have him…

 

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Sansa was sitting in her bath, it was mid-afternoon, and she had done nothing but wallow in misery in her chambers all morning before calling for a bath to rid her of the sweat built up by her early morning activities with Jon. Being in the bath and scrubbing her body reminded her of another issue that needed addressing and soon. It had taken her a bit to realize that Jon had peaked inside her. That brought on another set of fears, fear that his seed might take root in her womb and produce a baby. She needed moon tea and soon, but she wasn’t sure how else she could get it without Littlefinger finding out.

Not many of the lords here cared much for him, but the servants and minor lords were known to keep an ear out for him and spy. Sansa was trying not to be paranoid, but she feared if she asked anyone that they’d report back to him. She thought of the few people here that she talked to and possibly trusted, but there weren’t many, if any. Myranda was definitely out of the question and once more she couldn’t trust her handmaids for help either. Mya Stone was the only person she could think of that may be able to help her and be discreet about it too.

The older girl didn’t seem to care for Littlefinger much and Sansa knew she had sex before, thus having need of moon tea, at least once. Mya was her best bet in the end, but she didn’t know when she would see the girl again. She mainly stayed down the mountain with her mules, she also happened to be quite the loner and avoiding extended contact with any of the lords and ladies of the Vale if she could. Sansa didn’t blame her either, everyone was so pretentious and false, always looking out for a better way they can pull themselves up higher while dragging others below them in the process.

King’s Landing has opened her eyes and the Eyrie had continued to keep them open.

A brisk knock on her door brought her out of her thoughts. She thought about if she should answer or not before the door was opening without her consent. She had a dressing screen placed in front of the bath, hiding her from anyone entering her chambers, but it was translucent in appearance, allowing her to see the silhouette of the person coming in and allowing them to see her in the bath. The short stature and stiff shoulders told her of whom it was that entered her chambers unannounced.

“Daughter,” Littlefinger called out, walking closely to the screen before stopping. Sansa dipped lower into the bath, dread bubbling inside her stomach at his presence. Why was he here? It was highly inappropriate of him to be here while she bathed, regardless if he was her ‘father’ or not.

“Father,” she answered quietly, flinching as she said the word. She watched as he reached up with his hand, tracing lightly against the screen as though tracing her silhouette through it.

“You have not broken your fast today, nor did you come to supper last night, I grew worried.” Sansa swallowed drily, curling her arms around her knees to pull them up to her chest as she tried to think of an excuse as to why she hadn’t shown for either. “I hope you are not getting ill, my lovely daughter.”

Suddenly he walked around the screen, coming into full view of her in the bath. Sansa tightened her arms around her knees as her heart started to pound rapidly inside her chest. Petyr had never done that before, never invaded her privacy to such an extent. She noted that he was crossing boundaries more and more lately, but she hadn’t thought he would be so bold. “Petyr,” she hissed out warningly, but he ignored her, coming around to stand behind her.

“I’ve just come to see if my daughter is feeling alright,” he stated sternly before his hands dropped upon her wet shoulders, brushing sticking pieces of wet hair out of the way. She felt immensely sick to her stomach as he started to massage her shoulders, kneading into her skin with his disgusting fingers.

“I was feeling under the weather and wished not to infect anyone including you.” He hummed his response, still touching her. Sansa bit the inside of her cheek when his fingers moved further down the front of her shoulders, caressing her collarbone. He couldn’t see anything with the way she was curled up, but that didn’t seem to stop him.

Suddenly his breath was beside her ear as he spoke, “I will have some food brought up for you, it will not do to have you starve or dehydrate, my darling daughter. We wouldn’t want your beautiful skin to grow dry and wrinkled, it must stay soft and…supple.” When his hands moved down, and his fingertips brushed the tops of her breasts she lurched forward, out of his touch with a whimper of fear.

“Please go,” she uttered fearfully, glancing over her shoulder to see his darken gaze.

“Alright,” he relented, backing up from her slowly as a growing smile appeared on his lips. “The food will be here shortly, my dear.”

Sansa didn’t move until she saw and heard the door firmly shut as he left. In his wake tears burst from her eyes, leaving hot trails down her cheeks. Disgust make her retch, but it was just dry heaves since she had nothing in her stomach to throw up. A mere moment, Sansa serious contemplated drowning herself in the bath. A slow, agonizing moment where death seemed to be a better escape than continuing her lies and acts, continuing to be molested by Petyr and treated like property or trash by others. She dropped lowly into the tub then plunged underneath the water with a held breath.

She thought about everything she had gone through and the many times she had starved herself, thought of killing herself to spare her the pain and torture and torment and the many times she had forced herself to work through it all, to survive. But what was the point in surviving all that if she only continued down the same path of pain, torture and torment? It was like rinsing and repeating endlessly and though it seemed to make her somewhat stronger, it was also slowly tearing her apart. Air strained tightly in her throat as the need to breath came over her. How much further did all of this have to go? Where would Sansa end up if she continued to let these men dictate her life as she has?

The only end goal she can see is her chained to Petyr Baelish as his wife and having to endure his touch and mental torture, fixing and trying to replicate her into her mother so he could live his fantasy of winning Catelyn Tully’s heart. Her life would only result in being a copy without ever being her own person again. Was this truly her punishment? Was it?! The tightness became a burn in her throat, her eyes clenching in pain.

It was only the thought of despair she would cause Jon that made her fastly reconsider, that made her breach the water and gasp desperately for air. Her hands clung to the sides of the tub as she breathed loudly and deeply.

Jon.

He was the single thought that forced her to think of living. He thought he was all alone, but he wasn’t, she was here; he wasn’t alone. That means she’s not alone because he is here. The thought made the ache in her heart soothe and before long her breathing evened out. I’m not alone, as long as I have him, she thought, but I don’t have him, not truly…not as Alayne…

Not as Alayne…

 

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She kept telling herself she didn’t care, but really Alayne started to feel worry in the back of her mind for Sansa. There was a sense of sorrow inside her, one she knew that wasn’t coming from her but her other half. Something had set Sansa off, she was hurtling between mild sorrow and debilitating depression. Alayne found no issue being in control, finding that Sansa seemed to relinquish any want to be out, something that wasn’t unusual before Jon Snow came to them, but it was now. She hated to waste her time worrying about her weak half, but it was bleeding into her and making her mopey.

Even Sweetrobin had commented that she seemed rather sad.

To combat the sorrow that Sansa seemed to relish in lately, Alayne would visit Jon’s chambers more and more. He seemed to have gotten over his reluctance of sex with her, taking her in anyway she wanted. There was the time she was braced against his desk as he took her from behind, pounding into her so hard that the desk moved a few inches by the time they were well sated. Then there was the other time he took her against the wall by his door, holding her up by her bottom with one hand, her legs wrapped tightly around his hips and his other hand clamped tightly over her mouth to keep her moans muffled.

And then there was now.

Alayne had come across Jon writing a letter back to the Wall, she tried distracting him, but he was resilient towards her advances that included kissing his neck, clawing up and down his chest and even snaking her hand into his breeches to caress and awaken his cock. Jon held a stern face, clearly trying to seem unaffected by her touches while he continued to write his letter. She was growing mildly frustrated and Sansa’s depression was starting to seep through to Alayne and slowly causing a dent in her libido.

There was a brief pause in his writing where she took her chance, knocking his quill out of his hand then promptly seating herself in his lap. “Alayne!” Jon yelled in mild annoyance though he couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his lips, or his hands from encircling around her waist.

“Stop ignoring me,” she pouted with a pucker of her bottom lip and flutter of her lashes. She loved the feel of his hands going up and down her back, it was helping to ease the flow of sadness and sorrow that was leaking through from Sansa.

“I’m busy,” he mumbled, leaning forward to kiss the base of her neck then dragging his lips up to kiss underneath her chin.

“Be busy with me,” she urged huskily, combing her fingers into his hair. He kissed her jaw then her cheek before pressing a lingering kiss to her lips that caused tingles to race through her fingers and down to her toes.

“I’m always busy with you though.” Alayne laughed lightly, tugging his head back to give him a much deeper kiss, dragging her tongue through his lips to tangle with his. Jon groaned into her mouth, helping her shift in his lap until she was straddling him on either side of his hips.

Alayne pulled back briefly to nuzzle her nose against his, stating, “I want to keep it that way.”

Jon groaned again, taking up her mouth once more to battle with her tongue as though he intended to punish the appendage for her distracting actions. She grounded against his growing erection, humming her approval of his response to her. Each touch, each kiss brought forth a relaxing pleasure, relaxing enough to fight against Sansa’s sorrow. Alayne pulled back with a frown as she wondered if Sansa was only feeling this way because Jon was leaving, that she was becoming so sad because he would be gone from her, from them. Jon continued to press wet kisses against her skin, stopping briefly to suck loving marks every so often as he worked his way down her throat.

Her thoughts made her clung to him more as she felt an echoing sorrow to match Sansa’s. She didn’t want Jon to leave either. The caress of his tongue on her cleavage made her moan, pulling back enough to allow him to untie her dress so he could bare her breasts for him. It wasn’t so long ago that the thought of anyone’s lips on her breasts, suckling at her nipples brought utter disgust to her and it was all because of Sweetrobin. Now though, she couldn’t wait to feel Jon’s lips wrapped tenderly around her nipple, sucking harshly and lashing the bud with his tongue. She hadn’t to wait long before he was doing as she wished, sucking harder and harder while she pressed her breast into his mouth.

Her cunt was becoming more and more slick, wetting her smallclothes and possibly his breeches too. Alayne loved having sex with Jon, the way he made her feel. Both physically and emotionally. She wasn’t sure if she felt love for him, she had never truly been in love to know, but she felt it was something akin to that. She knew Sansa loved her brother, regardless of his bastard status, but it wasn’t the same that she was feeling for Jon. Alayne was having wild thoughts in her head as of late as they fucked and cuddled together.

Wild thoughts of her becoming round with child; his child. Wild thoughts of running away with him, away from the Eyrie and away from the Wall, away to somewhere else. She didn’t much care where the destination could be, North or South, maybe even East to Esso. Wild thoughts of marriage to him and many, many children running around with screams and laughter. The more she sought him out, the more Alayne reveled in these wild thoughts.

At one point she could hear him calling her ‘Sansa’, not only as they made love, but in general, in front of these imaginary children she thought of. That made her fearful, but then there was so much love in the way he said it as though he was saying her name as well as Sansa’s, as though he loved them both as one person. It was in those wild thoughts, wild fantasies that she felt safest.

Gods, did she wish for those things to come true…

Alayne helped Jon shift around in his breeches, releasing his aching, redden cock from its confines then she was pulling her smallclothes aside before dropping down upon his cock. They groaned in unison, her walls gripping his manhood snuggly. She felt like she was finally home now. Alayne braced her hands on his shoulders, smiling softly down at him as she raised herself up then back down.

This was a new position for them, one she had been wanting to try for a while though she had been expecting to do this in bed; the chair would due just fine. Jon’s head was thrown back as she started a steady pace, moving up and down his cock that was seemingly drenched in her wetness. His hands gripped her thighs underneath her skirts, running rough fingertips up and down her flesh. She kept up her steady movements, grinding down so her nub brushed the harsh fabric of his breeches to ignite shocks of pleasure through her. Alayne’s knees were starting to hurt from the hard wood of his chair, but she ignored it.

She opened her eyes to watch the pleasure through his expressions as she rode him. His hands moved up her thighs to cup her bottom cheeks, squeezing her flesh tightly before he started to help her bounce up and down his cock; increasing her pace. Alayne moaned out his name, dragging her hands up from his shoulders to strain through his curly locks. Jon’s eyes opened to stare up at her, all black and heated. Staring down into his gaze, she felt something inside her snap.

An incredible ache of sorrow erupted inside her chest as she moved, accenting the pleasure of her grinding. He’s going to leave me forever, leave me behind. Alayne shuddered as she realized those weren’t her thoughts; they were Sansa’s.

No, no, I’m fine, Alayne thought desperately. She squeezed her knees tightly, bracking her thighs as she tried willing away Sansa’s invading thoughts. They clouded her mind, fogging out the edges of her conscious as she started to drown within Sansa’s sorrow. Alayne felt her despair and the suffocating walls of their cage baring down upon her. She moaned in pleasure and pain, grinding down onto Jon’s cock harder and harder.

Stop it, Sansa! I’m in control now, Alayne screamed in her mind, wishing to slap Sansa, wishing to clear herself of the bothersome original.

Feeling hands grip her hips and halting her movements, Alayne opened her eyes to see Jon gazing at her with confusion and concern etched on his beautiful face.

“What?!” she unwillingly wailed, gasping at the croak of her voice.

“You’re crying,” Jon answered softly, lifting a hand to cup her cheek and wipe a wet trail underneath her eye. Alayne took a shuddering breath, feeling herself shake with the movement. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, closing her wet eyes. She wanted to say there was nothing wrong, that she was fine, but clearly, she wasn’t. Jon was much too shrewd though, he may not know who Alayne truly is, but he’d be able to tell if she was lying to him, especially now. His thumb continued to sweep across her high cheekbone, caressing the surface of her being to soothe the horrible ache inside. He said nothing more, just waited until she was willing to speak. Alayne had all intentions of not saying a word, of continuing to ride his slowly softening cock inside her, but then something triggered her, and her mouth opened, “I don’t want you to leave me.”

“Alayne,” Jon mumbled sullenly. She only shook her head at him, her eyes still closed because she couldn’t bare to see his expression to her words, to see how in a few days’ time this would all end and there was nothing either of them could do.

“I know, Jon, I know you can’t stay and I can’t go but…I want to.” Her eyes slowly opened to a water splashed world, blurred by her tears. “I want you and I can’t have you as I am…or anything else…” Belatedly she realized her words were not entirely her own, that somehow, she was echoing words that Sansa had thought and maybe they weren’t entirely Sansa’s either. Maybe they both were agreeing and feeling much the same in respect to Jon.

Maybe they weren’t so different.

“Alayne, I-Please don’t say anything.” Her eyes blinked, and the tears fell to clear her vision, to see the utter aguish on Jon’s face as he stared up at her. She stared down into his eyes, seeing how torn he was feeling and how much it seemed to mirror her own. “Please,” she rasped with a sniffle from her slowly running nose, “please just hold me.”

Jon immediately pulled her down into his arms, locking her into his chest and locking his soften cock further inside her. Being here seemed to soothe the beast of pain inside her and Sansa, she felt whole and safe. Alayne felt like she was home, and it was both wonderful and painful because all too soon her home would be gone, and she’d be left cold and isolated. A shiver ran down her spine as she felt a warmth flood through her skin.

For a brief moment it felt like Sansa hugging her from behind.

“I don’t want to leave you,” Jon whispered into her temple, stroking his hand up and down her back as he held her to him. His voice sounded thick to her ears, like he was trying to hold back his own tears too. “But duty-Fuck duty.” She felt him shake in quiet laughter at her utterance.

“Aye, fuck duty,” he repeated more clearly then it was all silence between them.

Alayne dropped her face into his neck and shoulder, breathing in his scent and the security of his embrace. She even worded her surprising words of love silently into his skin and hoping he could feel what she could not say out loud.

Please don’t leave me. Alayne could hear Sansa whimper in her mind. Please don’t leave me like everyone else has. She echoed that sediment, please don’t leave me…

 

\---------------------------------------------------------

 

Sansa clutched the letter to her chest as she sat at her vanity. Her mirror reflected back the sad, red eyes and wet cheeks with knotted hair back at her. The letter was from Alayne. It was long, drawn out and at some points the ink was smeared by what could only be tears. A letter of apologies, but also that of fear and furthermore of wishing to be out. Sansa felt sorrow and sickness at the words spoken to her.

Alayne wanted to be out permanently and Sansa inside; permanently.

The feelings running through her were so complicated and mixed, so much back and forth. She was feeling lost again, she was slowly losing herself once more. Alayne wanted endless control, Harry was in talks about a betrothal between them and Littlefinger was eyeing her body more and more. Not to mention Jon was leaving in four days and if she thought too long about that then she would start to have a panic attack.

Her world was tumbling down the edge of a cliff and there was nothing for her to grab onto, nothing to keep her from plummeting to her death. Her death that was practically her cage with chains around her neck and wrists as everyone watched her like an animal. Watched as she struggled and laughed at her misery. Her pain their entertainment and her sorrow their enjoyment.

More and more she found herself contemplating a death by her hands. It was morbid, true, but it seemed to be the only control Sansa had in this world. She glanced over at the Valyrian dagger sitting on her nightstand. Petyr had given it to her after the incident with the singer, telling her to keep it close to bed incase someone tried to come to her at night. She had thought he cared for her wellbeing and virtue, but really, he was protecting his investment. Sansa usually kept the dangerous weapon with its long-curved blade and hard handle hidden inside a drawer, but she pulled it out earlier, contemplating how easily it could slice through her skin and veins.

How easily it could end her life…

What was the point of living once Jon was gone? She’d just find herself in an unwanted marriage, again. She would be forced to couple with a man she for all intents and purposes despised at this point and then she would watch as he died as she became fat with his unwanted child inside her. And again, she would repeat this process, but with Littlefinger at the head. Sansa would be forced to couple with him and become fat with his child too, possibly many.

I’d rather die, she thought disgustedly. I’d rather be fat with Jon’s than Petyr’s…

Her hand dropped to her belly, rubbing the flat surface. She had sent a message to Mya, inquiring on when she would next be up at the Eyrie, but she had yet to get a response back. It has only been a week and few days, but Sansa knew it didn’t take much for a man’s seed to take root inside a woman’s womb, especially considering that Alayne had been sleeping with Jon while in control numerous times. Sansa didn’t know if her other half allowed Jon to peak inside her, she feared the answer was yes.

There was a wild thought growing inside her mind though, one that could very well be from Alayne. A wild thought of agreeing and marrying Harry Hardyng as fast as possible after Jon leaves. A wild thought of not getting moon tea and letting Jon spill inside her many, many times before he was to leave. A wild thought that could save her sanity as she was chained to a man she did not want.

A wild thought of becoming pregnant with her half-brother’s child so she could love the baby her body held as she dealt with men she did not love.

Sansa wanted to push it aside, to brush it off as a wild thought of Alayne’s alone, but she’d be lying if she hadn’t thought about it more than a brief second. It’d be lying if she hadn’t seriously contemplated the scenario that could be reality. Sansa glanced up at her reflection, taking in the dark hair up to where her roots were appearing lighter, she’d have to dye it again soon, taking in the red veins in her blue eyes, taking in the light fading bruises that could only be from Jon’s mouth on her throat and collarbones and taking in the how much she did not look like Sansa Stark of old. Her freckles having lighten against her pale skin as she aged, her breasts growing fuller, her curves accenting her body and the baby fat disappearing from her face.

She looked like a woman grown.

She could see her lady mother in her, but also, strangely enough, her father too. She had his squarish jawline along with his long forehead that she had once tried to cover with bangs as a child but grew frustrated with them then decided to own her large forehead. Her lady mother was in her lips, chin, nose and eyes. Sansa’s shoulders were freckled like her mothers too. She looked like her parents, but she looked like herself, or as much herself as she could ever truly be.

Sansa stroked her dark locks, wishing to see the auburn that was hidden underneath. Her eyes looked back into the mirror where they pinpointed the drawer in her dresser that hid the soap that would draw out the dark dye from her hair. Petyr didn’t know she had it and before she had never been tempted to use it…

Shaking her head, she drew back to her reflection, taking her brush to run the bristles through her knotted hair until it was smooth once more. Sansa breathed deeply then hummed as she worked, hoping to push away all the distracting and painful thoughts that put horrible amounts of stress on her shoulders. Stress will bring out wrinkles, her lady mother use to say, but then she would stand aside with her forehead wrinkled with a lost look in her eyes as she stressed over something or another. Sansa felt a slight lift in the corner of her mouth.

It dropped into a thin line when a knock echoed at her door. Sighing, she called out for whomever to enter. She grinded her teeth when Littlefinger came through, closing the door soundlessly behind him. Sansa breathed through her nose to steady her heartrate before continuing to brush her hair as though he hadn’t entered at all. He watched her appraisingly for a moment before he was walking towards her, halting right behind her. She was in her nightgown for bed, it covered up much more than when she was in the tub three days ago, but still she felt naked underneath his stare.

“We will be having good news soon,” he started as his snake like lips curved into something that slightly resembled a smile though it leaned more towards a smirk.

“Good news?” Sansa obediently questioned, bringing forth some hair to cover her breasts where his eyes seemed to linger.

“Yes, very good news to come. It seems Harry has been speaking to his mother, Lady Waynwood about accepting a betrothal, a certain betrothal of a highborn bastard.” Sansa only blinked as her response to his words though she felt evermore sick at the implication. “I think in maybe a fortnight we will have good news and a wedding to plan.”

Her heart pounded inside her chest as his hands landed on her shoulders, why did he always feel the need to touch her? A vindictive streak ran through her as she voiced her thoughts, “But will there be a marriage, if a certain Stark is still married to a certain Lannister?”

The tight grip of his fingers told her he was not pleased with her words. Petyr hated when the truth came out to fuddle his plans. He leaned down some though not too much considering his stature, shorter than Jon, she thought.

“Yes, but I already have that figured out, my dear, sweet daughter,” Petyr stated confidently then unexpectedly kissed the base of her neck. Sansa’s grip on her brush tighten at the feel of his wormy thin lips on her skin.

“Do you?” she further questioned.

“I may have a piece of paper stating an annulment of marriage lying in wait.” He smirked beyond her shoulder then yanked her brush from her hand to toss carelessly onto her vanity before kissing her cheek. “Maester Coleman will test you for your maidenhead once I present you as Sansa Stark to him.”

“What if I don’t have one?” Sansa asked bluntly, keeping a straight face as Petyr looked at her through the mirror, his brow furrowed in thought as he tried to see of what truth lied in her question.

“If…if there is not one then it means nothing, the paper states you are a maiden still as seen from the High Septon and Maester Coleman can be compensated for his discretion otherwise. Should I be told something, sweetling?” Sansa could feel his eyes peering deeply into her own, looking for something to indicate that her question meant something more than curiosity.

“No, I was only curious. Myranda has told me that a maidenhead can be lost from rough riding of horses…or among other reasons. She even told me that sometimes a maidenhead can remain intact even after coupling…” Sansa glanced down briefly in supposive innocence. True, Myranda had spoken of such things making them true. Mya had told her in confidence that she hadn’t felt anything hurt her first time, stating she must have lost hers through riding.

Petyr watched her carefully though. She could only imagine the thought process running through his head as he stared at her, wondering if she was truly asking out of innocence or reason. Suddenly he was done watching her as his hands swept down from her shoulders, cupping her breasts through her nightgown. Sansa gasped, flinching at his touch. His lips were touching her cheek again then he was rounding to her side where his lips pressed into hers. Sansa cringed at his kiss, one hand holding her head to him while the other cupped her breast and flicked at her hardening nipple.

Please stop, she thought desperately, please stop touching me! She endured his kiss, endured his tongue in her mouth and endured the pinching of his fingers on her nipple before finally he pulled away to stand. Sansa knew her eyes were watery, but she refused to look at her reflection in the mirror.

“Sansa,” he mumbled almost gently, fear bloomed in her chest. He never said her true name anymore. His hand came back to cup her head, fingers running through the strands of her hair before gripping tightly and forcing her head back to peer up at him. “The next time I come to you, naked or clothed, you will not hide yourself from me.”

“Yes,” Sansa whined, tears leaking from her eyes.

“Yes what?” he asked patiently.

“Yes father,” she answered with a thick swallow, her stomach retching in protest. Petyr leaned down to kiss her once more on the lips then he was leaving her. The sound of her door shutting was like a dam breaking inside her.

Sansa dropped her face into her hands as she cried. The violation of her body left her shaken and sick, and the lack of control ate away at her. She removed her hands from her eyes to look back at the dagger on her nightstand through her vanity mirror. She turned around on her stool to gaze at it with her wet eyes. Every single thought centered on the dagger, on what her skin would look like with her red blood slipping through a single slice.

She wobbled on unsteady legs as she approached the weapon. Sansa even picked it up and inspected it, watching as the light bounced upon the shiny reflection of the blade. She even placed the cold steel on her inner arm.

Then just as abruptly she set it down and raced out of her chambers. It was late, everyone already in bed for the night, so she did not come across a single soul as she ran through the halls. Sansa felt a release of her pain by each step she took as she got closer and closer to her destination. The security and safety she always felt was returning to her as she grew near.

The door opened easily for her, gaining entry into the chambers swiftly. Jon shot up in his bed, but the moonlight drifting in from the window gave him enough light to see who it was. “Alayne?” he questioned as she approached him, pushing him back against the headboard of his bed then she straddled his lap. “What’s wrong?”

“Take me like a wolf again,” Sansa said quickly, reaching down to the ties of her nightgown so she could toss it from her body. Jon snatched her hands before she could get far, stilling her progress and pulling her attention back on him.

“Alayne.” Sansa shook her head at him.

“Call me Sansa and take me like a wolf again.” She needed him to acknowledge her as Sansa and not Alayne, she needed him to take back her name from Petyr’s filthy mouth and she needed to feel cared for and loved. “Please Jon.”

“Don’t beg, you never have to beg with me anymore,” Jon stated gently, letting her hands go before helping her with the ties then helping with lifting her nightgown off her body. Sansa pulled his hands to her breasts, almost sighing at the familiar touch against her, pushing away the repulsive touch of Petyr’s hands.

He gave her breasts a squeeze, tracing the ridges and bumps on her areola as her nipple crinkled and harden. His calloused thumbs sent rushes of tingles through her, Sansa moaned her pleasure as she watched him touch her. Jon locked their gazes then leaned forward to flick a nipple with his tongue, holding her gaze as he continued to fiddle with the harden bud before closing his mouth around it. His teeth biting her nipple made her cry out, tugging on his hair in retaliation. Jon groaned into her breast then released it with a pop, breathing out her name, not Alayne’s but truly hers before she engulfed her name into her mouth with a kiss.

Jon’s tongue felt so much nicer than Petyr’s, a loving invitation in her mouth rather than an invasion. They traded moans and groans as she grinded down on his clothed cock, moving along the length of him in his sleeping breeches. Jon moved one hand to the back of her head, replacing the sensation of Petyr’s touch further while his other hand slipped into her smallclothes to find her already hot and wet, begging for his touch.

Sansa bit down on his lip when he started to rub two fingers onto of her nub, working her as they kissed and she grinded down on his erection. It felt so good and it eased the panic and pain inside her. His called her Sansa again, bringing forth another shudder through her body at the husky, reverence of her name on his tongue. She released his lip, tracing the bruised flesh with her tongue before she was kissing him fully on the lips again.

Eventually she was moved off his lap, so Jon could get rid of his clothes along with her smallclothes. They moved into position, Sansa getting on all fours like before as a tremble ran through her skin. She could feel her nub throbbing excitedly as the rest of her waited for him to assume his position. She felt his hand touch her back then he was pressing down on her, saying, “Lay on your stomach.”

She followed his words quickly then he was leaning down on her, his hot chest pressing down into her back before his cock rubbed up and down her slit. Sansa moaned his name when he pressed into her, sheathing solidly inside her quivering walls. One hand slid under her arm to clutch at her shoulder as the other ran along her arm before intertwining his fingers through her own, so they clutched at each other. Sansa looked at his hand covering hers, laced through her fingers tightly. The feeling of intimacy rushed through her chest, her eyes watered at the sight and the feelings that came with it.

Jon had her legs spread further out so his knees could take most of his weigh from her back then he was moving languidly, slow and long strokes of his cock inside her cunt that dragged along her sensitive walls. It was so much more intimate than the first time, she thought. And she realized why as the minutes moved along slowly to his strokes. He wasn’t fucking her right now, he was making love to her. “Jon,” Sansa moaned out, arching her hips up to meet his.

“Sansa,” he echoed back. She moved to look at him in the corner of her eye where she could see the way he looked at her in the dark shadows and darken moonlight, it was a cloudy night. Sansa felt her breath shaken inside her chest at the sight, it was like he believed it himself. “Sansa,” he repeated in the same husky, reverent voice that made everything inside her melt away. Truly, he said her name like he thought that was who she was.

His hand on her shoulder tighten as he started to pick up pace, his thrusts still long and seemingly deep, but coming faster and faster as he moved. Sansa met his thrusts, pressing her bottom into his abdomen as they met in the middle. She felt free in this moment, she felt in control and she felt truly loved. Sansa clutched tighter at his fingers, moaned his name louder and louder as she got closer and closer to her peak.

Sansa realized she wanted it, she wanted his seed and his child. If that was only one way she could control her life, her future that didn’t involve taking her life then she’d do it. And if she also wanted it because it was Jon’s and she loved him dearly, possibly more than she truly should then so be it. Anything was far better than her reality.

“Spill in me, Jon,” Sansa called out, digging her knees into the mattress to meet his thrusts even harder. Jon stuttered in his movements, squeezing her hand so tightly it hurt.

“You want it,” Jon asked though he said it like he was lost in a haze. Sansa returned his squeezing with her own.

“Yes, I want it.”

Jon groaned her true name, dropping into her back for a moment where all movement seized. She whined his name in question then Jon was up again and pounding harshly into her, punishing her walls for wanting his seed it seemed. He started mumbling like that night, telling her he shouldn’t, that he won’t get a bastard on her, like them.

“You said I’d,” Sansa moaned deeply, her inner walls almost vibrating as she neared her peak, “I’d never have to beg you!”

“Sansa!” Jon growled, plunging his hips into her. Her hand was going numb in his hold, his probably was too.

“Plea-Don’t beg me!” Jon continued to growl, pounding and pounding his cock into her and yet it still felt like he was making love to her. His aggression towards her for what she wanted made her wetter, the way he pounded into her cunt told her how much he truly wanted it as well. “Please don’t.”

“Spill in me, Jon!” Sansa demanded with jut of her chin that she was sure he saw as his eyes widen at the gesture, a true Sansa Stark gesture.

Jon barked out her name just as she hit her peak, her walls closing in on his plunging cock, her walls locking his cock in as it pulsed with his own release inside her. He moaned her name down into her shoulder as he rutted a few times then stopped with his weigh resting upon her. Sansa took his weigh happily, her insides warm from both his seed and her climax. Jon eventually rolled off her, letting her hand go before turning it over to intertwine so their palms kissed.

“Why?” he suddenly asked quietly, his eyes starting to droop from tiredness.

The way he was looking at her, some confusion yet a clarity that made her heart stop and her stomach swoop. He knows, she thought tearfully, he knows.

“Because…I can’t have you…”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes...now he truly knows! So in the original draft Jon wasn't supposed to find out about Sansa until literally the end of the story (when this was a oneshot) and originally I left his response up in the air. The end would be her entering his room with her hair red and him saying her name and that was the end. I now realize how much of an asshole move that would be and when I was going for a much, much darker story (like self-mutilation dark, though I touch base a bit in the story and Sansa literally losing it). I also realized that Jon is smarter than that, obviously since he called her Sansa in the last chapter, clueing in that he has a sinking feeling of whom she really is. I mean, damn, I keep mentioning how shrewd he is yet I treat him like a dummy, lol. 
> 
> So, I kind of have to change the final act of the chapter since I will not be going with the original (which I am sure many of you will be happy about, yay, I'm less of an asshole!). But the good thing is I haven't actually given away the whole final act, just the bit at the very end, so I should be able to update by next week *fingers crossed*. I hope this chapter came out good for y'all! I mean, I was being kind of light on Sansa's depression with her split personality in the beginning, but this went right down deep into her depression pretty quickly and I feel it might be a big jump...Let me know if it is! Oh and if it's not obvious enough, Petyr has forged papers from the high septon, their not real but no one would question it because it looks that way, incase I get any 'but, but' about that. 
> 
> But Anywho, let me know whatcha think!? ^_~


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The final chapter! Oh my gosh, guys!! I cannot tell you how happy I am to have finished a story like this, it's makes me so excited to have finished something from a start to an end! And I really couldn't have done it without y'all either! Your kudos and comments, subscriptions and bookmarking! Seriously, I've never been so good about updating regularly, but y'all really pumped me up and truly helped me complete this story. Thank you, thank you so much for reading and reviewing, hell even bothering to view the story at all! THANK YOU!!
> 
> *Warning: Non-con/rape elements in this final chapter (in regards to a certain someone we all know) with graphic violence as well.   
> I hope y'all enjoy and without further ado, the final chapter!!! ^_~

 

 

Sansa could feel the sweat on her body cool, feel the wetness on her inner thighs cool and even the slow dripping of Jon’s seed seeping out of her body cooling, yet her eyes burned with unshed tears. Jon gave her hand a squeeze as he watched her, staring at her like he was staring into her soul. There was nothing but silence between them, Sansa was sure he was trying to comprehend everything that had happened. The utter realization that she was his sister had to be a lot on his mind, the fact that she had been hiding underneath his nose and taking liberties with him under that disguise…

Her eyes closed, releasing the hot tears to trail down her cheek and the bride of her nose into the pillow underneath her head. She was afraid of the repercussions of allowing Jon to know who she really was, afraid that instead of drawing him closer, she had unwillingly pushed him further away. Yet his fingers were still tightly intertwined with hers, keeping a solid connection between them as the silence dwelled in a strange loudness in the air.

Sansa breathed in tightly through her nose where she accidently snorted loudly instead. A soft chuckle beside her made her open her eyes to see a smile on Jon’s face as he gazed at her.

“I need to blow my nose,” Sansa mumbled embarrassingly, wrinkling her nose at the feeling. Jon’s mouth opened some to reveal the top row of his teeth in a smile before he was sitting up enough to dig his elbows into the mattress and lean towards the nightstand beside him.

He seemed reluctant to let go of my hand, Sansa mused as she watched as he fished around the drawer then produced a handkerchief for her. She mumbled a ‘thank you’ but still he refused to release her hand, so she had to blow her noses awkwardly with one hand trapped in his. Silence once more reign between them afterwards though it wasn’t nearly as suffocating as earlier.

“Sansa,” Jon finally said softly. “I wish to know how all this came to be, you in the Vale and pretending to be Alayne Stone, I wish to know the truth…please,” he added at the end, shifting closer to her.

Sansa sighed deeply, closing her drying eyes as she thought of how everything went and how exactly she ended up here. There was so much to discuss, so much to tell and so much grief she wasn’t willing to endure, but for Jon…

“Petyr Baelish had helped me escape King’s Landing when Joffrey died, Tyrion and I were framed for his murder. I came here for protection, to my Aunt Lysa, but she…” Sansa shuddered at the remembrance of her aunt’s hand clutched in her hair, trying to force her heavily over the moon door. “She wasn’t well in the head, she almost killed me over a misunderstanding until Petyr saved me, he pushed her out the moon door instead of me.”

“What misunderstanding?” Jon asked before she could move on. He must have noticed the wince in her expression when she mentioned it, noticed the discomfort of remembering what the misunderstanding was that resulted in the premature death of her mother’s sister.

“I…Petyr kissed me…on the lips and she had just wed him only days earlier…” Sansa hadn’t realized she was looking down until she forced her eyes up to see the harden expression on Jon’s face. His jaw was clenched tightly, and his eyes were darkened in anger.

“How old were you?”

She looked back away as she mumbled, “The same age I am now…it was only some moons ago…” she heard him mumble, “fuck.” His hand tightened on hers.

“Sansa, you’re fifteen, barely sixteen and he’s…” Jon closed his eyes tightly, looking like he was ready to jump up and leave the bed, like he was ready to find Littlefinger and beat him to an inch of his life. A shudder went through her at the thought, the thought of him protecting her, something no one had truly done for her before.

“I was married at fourteen, age doesn’t seem to matter to anyone here.” Her answered seemed to pain him as he opened his eyes to stare at her. Suddenly he was shifting even closer until their noses were touching and all she could see were his eyes. His beautiful, dark grey eyes.

“Has he ever…you?” Jon couldn’t seem to phrase the question right, but she knew what he meant and as a flash of earlier came to her mind, she only shook her head to him. She didn’t want to think about earlier anymore, she only wanted to feel Jon and be touched by him.

“I’ve only coupled with one man,” she said instead, leaning forward enough to press a tender kiss to his lips. Another pained expression came upon him, his tongue coming out to touch his lips.

“Right…me.”

“Why do you act like that hurts you?” Sansa asked quickly, a painful thump of her heart against her ribs echoed inside her. Did he regret her now? Did he regret her because she was actually his sister? Fear suddenly gripped at her heart.

“I took your maidenhead as we were drunk, I fucked you multiple times and you are my sister…gods Sansa, I took advantage of you.” His anguish made her sad, his slacken grip on her hand hurt even more so she tightened her grip on him now.

“You listen to me, Jon Snow,” Sansa started out, shifting onto her side more to grip his chin in her free hand and tug his eyes back up to hers. “I do not regret sleeping with you, nor do I regret you taking my maidenhead, a gift I gave to you and no one else, not even the man they forced me to marry in King’s Landing. If not for you being here I would have completely fallen into my disguise.” Her eyes watered much to her annoyance, but as she spoke her words she came to realize how true they really were.

She had been beyond upset that Alayne had taken it upon herself to sleep with Jon and give him her maiden’s gift, but now she couldn’t imagine giving it to any other man, nor did she ever want too. Any regret that had lingered about had all but disappeared into thin air now. Before Jon had come to the Vale, Sansa was prepared to do what Littlefinger dictated, to marry Harry and have his child, to marry Petyr after her second husband’s death and have his children soon after. Sansa was prepared to stay as Alayne as long as she needed to, but now she did not wish it and it was because of Jon.

Jon was slowly bringing her back, helping her to fight against her supposive protector and push back the created personality that was Alayne Stone. Jon was more than her bastard half-brother, he was her true protector, her friend, her…love.

“You have brought me back, you are bringing me back and I…I love you for that. I love you, not as a sibling, but as something more and I do not regret anything between us: at all.” Jon’s eyes looked glossy and he swallowed harshly, sniffling his nose as well before pulling her forward to rest his forehead against hers.

“Gods Sansa…I know it’s wrong and impure, I know it’s sinful and deprave, but gods, do I love you so much. I love you more than as a sibling,” Jon breathed out, his voice dropping in pitch as he whispered against her lips. That fear that had taken her was gone, replaced by a warmth that felt so healing and loving, a warmth that could only come from one thing and one person.

They stayed like that for a good while, pressing light, tender kisses while whispering words of love to each other. Sansa relished the warmth inside her and outside her, shifting to be engulfed in Jon’s arms, pressing their naked bodies together. Sleep was edging at the corners of her eyes before Jon asked her to finish her words of earlier, to finish her story of how she came to be there, and she spoke, telling him everything including Littlefinger’s plans for her. All his plans and she hadn’t missed the way his arms tightened around her as though he intended to suck her within his body and hide her away from everyone and everything. Sansa found she didn’t mind that one bit either.

Before too long sleep over took them, dragging them into blissful darkness for a time. Sansa woke a few hours later to Jon pressing kisses into her skin, drawing further down her body before finding his position between her legs. She could feel him using the sheet to wipe away his seed before his soft lips and wet tongue replaced that. Sansa whined at the touch, feeling much more sensitive than the first time he had done this to her. His tongue ran through her folds then lashed against her nub, sucking the bundle of nerves into his mouth.

Sansa moaned loudly at his touch, finding the situation more arousing at the fact that he was hidden beneath the covers as he kissed and sucked at her cunt. Her hips arched up against his mouth as his fingers dug into her thighs to keep them still. He was relentless in his pursuit of her pleasure, keeping her nub locked in his hot, wet mouth and rubbing and flicking the button with his tongue. She shouldn’t have been surprised at how fast she hit her peak, nor when his continued suction brought her to a second more powerful release that made her body quake and quiver.

Jon eventually popped out from under the covers with his beard wet and a broad smile on his lips before he slipped into her soft wetness to find his release. Sansa intertwined both of their hands together as he hovered over her and gave into long, loving strokes into her. She was still quivering from her releases, still somewhat asleep as was Jon as he was so languid in his thrusts. He dropped to his elbows, locking hers closer to her body as he moved so he could lean down into her ear and speak to her.

He whispered words of love, telling her how much he loved her. Soon enough his words shifted, and he told her of how he knew, somewhere in his heart, he knew that Alayne was her and how he could tell when he was talking to her disguise and when he was talking to her. His thrusts were still slow and long, lulling her between sleep and wakefulness. Jon told her that he was only half surprised by finding her, that he had always known. Then he said something else that made her cry out, both in pleasure and pain.

“I’m taking you away from here,” Jon vowed as he accented his words with a harder thrust. Sansa felt tears well in her eyes.

“I can’t leave,” she answered brokenly, moaning between pleasure and pain.

“You can,” he asserted, rearing back to press into her again, long and hard. “I will not leave here without you, Sansa.”

“We can’t, you don’t understand, Jon. I can’t leave here!” He didn’t seem to hear as he repeated, “You are leaving here, we are leaving here together.”

Sansa clenched her fingers around his as the thoughts of leaving sounded so pleasing and yet they brought nothing but fear for her. Littlefinger would never let her go, she was his ticket to Winterfell, she was his ticket to his fantasy come true. He’d never let her willingly go, not without a fight at least and that was what scared her the most. She feared losing Jon more than she feared being chained to Petyr Baelish forever. Sansa would grind her teeth and bare all that was set out for her if that meant Jon was safe. Yet Jon seemed to think otherwise, telling her that she was going to come with him, that he’d find a way to give her the life she deserved and if that meant bringing forth another war then so be it.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she relished his words and his movements, rolling her hips to his thrusts until he was rutting his completion inside her once more. Jon released her fingers to pull her back into his arms, sleep finding him once more while she could do nothing but stay awake now.

Her eyes drifted over his slacken face, taking in how peaceful he looked in his slumber. Sansa touched his beard, feeling her sticky slick left over. She knew he would do as he vowed, but she also knew that he’d get himself killed for doing so. You can’t save me, Sansa thought sadly, but I can save you. She slowly pulled herself out of his grasp, replacing the pillow with her scent into his arms before leaving the warmth of his bed.

Sansa flinched at the feeling of Jon’s seed leaking down her inner thigh. She wiped up the mess quickly then pulled her nightgown back on, she couldn’t find her smallclothes anywhere. She glanced back at Jon’s sleeping form, sorrow gripping at her heart. If the Gods were good, then she’d be blissed with his child and she would only have to endure Harry’s presence before Littlefinger had him killed as they regained Winterfell. At least then she’d know that her first child was Jon’s and that she could truly love the babe. Her hand drifted down to her stomach, rubbing it thoughtfully before leaving his chambers.

It was early morning, later than she usually left his chambers so she couldn’t avoid being seen by one of the maids. She watched Sansa walk slowly pass her, a frown on her lips before she was on her way. She knew that the maid would most likely go to Littlefinger and tell him what she had witnessed, seeing his ‘daughter’ in her nightgown while roaming the halls, possibly coming back from a man’s chambers. Sansa found she did not care in the least, she was about to be irrevocably chained down to him forever, she should be allowed her freedoms for the short time she could have them.

Light was softly filtering into her chambers upon entry, giving a soft glow around her room. She glanced over at her vanity then proceeded to collapse on her bed as she thought about everything in some vain hope that she could outsmart Littlefinger, beat him at his own game. Hadn’t he been tutoring her on exactly that? Teaching her how to play the game for his benefit though really Sansa could make it into her own. Thoughts of washing her hair of the dye and stepping out into the courtyard when everyone was out and about, letting them see her natural auburn hair shining in the limited sunlight.

It was bold, it was something Alayne would do and it could end disastrously too. If the lords and ladies didn’t think she’d just dyed her hair, then they might be willing to turn her in to the Lannisters for the hefty sum that was on her head. She didn’t very well trust many of the lords here aside from possibly Lord Royce, but even then, it was a stretch. But if she did present herself as Sansa Stark then his daughter could get that betrothal from Harry Hardyng and then he may be more willing to help her?

Sansa sighed as she flopped onto her back to gaze at her ceiling in thought. What if she left with Jon like he wanted? Stowaway with his group of men to go to the Wall? But then there would be no place for her there among all those men. She couldn’t very well disguise herself among them especially if Jon’s seed took root in her womb. Then her thoughts drifted to what Jon had told her, that he would fight a war for her, but could she allow him too?

He’d abandon his post as Lord Commander, something that was treason to get back her and her home. Though the thought made her immensely happy, Sansa could never ask that of him, nor allow him to go through such a thing. Not for her. Jon had already lived a harsh life, both back at Winterfell and as a member of the Night’s Watch. To ask him to do such a thing, to set aside his title and help her…no, she could never. Jon can’t save me, she thought, no one can.

You can.

Sansa bristled, sitting up rapidly as she looked around herself. There was no one in the room, but she was sure she heard a voice. A glint in her vanity mirror, a flash of light caught her attention. Slowly she drew up from her bed, shuffling over to peer into the mirror but was only greeted by her reflection. Sighing, she turned away, wishing not to look upon her sad face and eyes.

Stop being a helpless lady and fight for your freedom, you coward!

Sansa stopped moving, she knew that voice, but there was no way she was hearing it now. Slowly she turned to look over her shoulder, peering into the vanity mirror to see herself-no-to see Alayne glaring back at her.

“This is why I should be in control at all times, you can’t handle it on your own,” she said spitefully, crossing her arms over her chest. Sansa spun around to face her, her jaw growing slack as she blinked rapidly. She must be losing her mind. “Stop looking at me like I’m crazy.”

“Oh gods, I am losing it,” Sansa mumbled as she rubbed her forehead just as a headache came on, one she knew was coming from Alayne. She could feel her fighting for control, trying to push her aside.

“Let me out, Sansa, it’ll be easier this way. I could have a happier life with Jon than you could.”

“Jon knows, Alayne! He knows who we are, who I am and…” Sansa dropped her hands down on top of the table of her vanity, glancing away from Alayne in the mirror as it really seemed to come over her, the realization as she said, “and he loves me anyway, he wants me anyway.”

“He only wants you because of me, none of this would have happened if not for me!” Alayne yelled out, her nails digging into her arms. Sansa could feel the phantom touch on her own arms, she glanced between the mirror and her arms as though she expected to see her mirroring Alayne, but she wasn’t. Oh, the Seven, she truly must be losing her mind! “What could you do anyway, Sansa? You are weak without me, you need me or everything you have ever felt, and thought will come baring down upon you like hail from the sky! Let me out!”

“No! I don’t need you anymore!” Sansa screamed back, digging her fingers into the wood of the table as she glared back at Alayne. “I needed you to help protect me, not galivant and do as you please like my brother! I needed you because I was weak and maybe I still am but,” she stopped abruptly as she thought of the smile on Jon’s lips, the way he pulled her closer to him, vowing to protect her, to take her away. “But I’m not alone anymore, I love him, and he loves me, and I don’t need you anymore!”

“I will not go without a fight!” Alayne shouted back.

Suddenly the room went topsy-turvy as she dropped to the ground, clutching at her head as immense pain bloomed inside it. Sansa forced herself to stand but she stumbled into her vanity, knocking the trinkets and brushes off in a clatter. She looked up into the mirror to see Alayne staring at her in rage and anger, a line of blood started to drip down from her right nostril. Thoughtlessly, Sansa reared back her fist and slammed it against the mirror, shattering the glass into large cracks and little pieces. Her knuckles were bleeding, but she didn’t stop hitting the reflection of herself, of Alayne as she shouted, “this is my mind and my body, I am in control and I don’t need you anymore!”

The pounding in her head took over all sound as she brought the vanity crushing to the floor, barely feeling the shards of glass underneath her feet as she fought with Alayne inside her mind. Sansa struggled, trying to push the entity of Alayne’s mind from her own, but it was fastly becoming a foolish endeavor. Alayne was right, she was stronger, and Sansa was weaker.

Through the beating of her mind, Sansa realized, yes, she did need Alayne, but Alayne couldn’t have utter control. Sansa was the original not her. “I’m sorry, Alayne,” Sansa said softly, looking down at the shards of glass, some reflecting them back and some not. “I do need you, but I need you with me, not against me. I need you in me, not out of me.”

Sansa closed her eyes, and, in her mind, she saw herself with her red hair and her pretty dress with her families’ direwolf sigil on her chest and in front of her, she saw Alayne with her dark hair and darker dress with the inverted sigil of Petyr’s house. She could see how similar and different they were as her counterpart glared at her, shouting that she deserved to live too, that she deserved to have a life as well. Sansa couldn’t agree more and walked to her, her arms wide open. Alayne shook her head though, trying to move back but she was rooted in her spot.

“No, stay away from me!” she yelled, slapping Sansa across the face but she was not deterred.

“I love you, Alayne, for being strong when I could not and for allowing me to see how dear Jon could mean to me. I love you and I need you, please accept me,” Sansa said through tears and a watery smile. Alayne’s eyes watered too though she tried to fight it.

“But I won’t exist anymore and I’m…afraid,” she whispered brokenly, finally accepting the hug from Sansa, grasping tightly at the back of her dress as they held each other.

“You will always exist, Alayne because I’ll always need you, I need your strength and your boldness, and you will always be there, even if you won’t have control anymore,” Sansa assured her softly, clutching at the back of her head and back. “Please accept me, be with me.”

Alayne cried then slowly she disappeared but Sansa could feel her, slowly seeping inside her, with her. She felt so warm now and strong, stronger than she had ever been before, and it was all thanks to Alayne. She could still feel her like before, but not as prominent, like a quiet whisper in her ear to help guide her along, an angel on her shoulder perhaps.

“Alayne!”

The sound of her other name brought her out of her head, she blinked several times as she took in the state of her room. Her things were littering the floor and her vanity was on its side, mirror utterly shattered and glass all over the floor. She stepped back and winced at the cut of glass into her bare foot. Sansa looked up to find Petyr at her door, he quickly shut it and ran to her, his feet covered in his boots.

Sansa tried to step back from him, but he picked her up anyway, bringing her over to her bed as her door burst open with guards and maids, some gasping at the sight of her chambers. Petyr hissed at them to leave then he was pushing back her disheveled hair and looking over her.

“I will have Maester Coleman brought in for your wounds.” He left for a brief moment to speak with someone outside her door then he was walking back towards her, but instead of being the attentive father that he portrayed in front of her and everyone else, he was now Littlefinger, looking her over with keen eyes. “What happened here?” he asked.

She glanced around at the chamber before shrugging her shoulders. “I got angry,” she answered tonelessly, wishing she was not left alone with him. She could feel Alayne agreeing with her, a gentle hand on her shoulder to keep her strong.

“You got angry? It looks like you were attacked, or that you were attacking someone.” He eyed the dagger on her nightstand then the rest of her room. “Tell me the truth, Sansa,” Petyr demanded heatedly, reaching down to grasp her chin and yank her wandering attention back onto him. A lick of anger boiled in her belly.

“You want the truth, Petyr? Okay, in an effort to keep my sanity after King’s Landing I created the persona of Alayne Stone that took a life of its own and became real, there are days I don’t remember because she was in control and she’s the one whom has been flirting with Jon instead of me. We had a fight and I came out on top, is that what you wanted to hear?!” Sansa yelled out breathlessly, glaring up at him as he seemed to be absorbing everything she had said.

Then a queer look came upon him as he looked at her, like she was insane. “Am I cursed? Is that why I must contend with a sickly boy of the body and a sickly girl of the mind? Oh, the Seven, help me.” Petyr rubbed at his forehead.

“Pet-” Sansa’s head shot to the left from the slap of his backhand to her cheek. She could taste blood in her mouth from where her tooth bit into her cheek. The shock of him backhanding her kept her from saying anything more.

“You do not say a word of this to anyone, you hear me? No more speak of second personalities and such. You will not ruin my plans, I have gotten too far for anyone to get in my way,” Petyr stated darkly, pulling her back to me to look over her tender and red cheek. Sansa flinched at the touch, closing her eyes. He mumbled out a dry, confused, “why,” before releasing her when there was a knock on her door.

Maester Coleman looked her over, pulling glass shards from both the knuckles of her right hand and her feet, cleaning them with ointment before wrapping them up. After he wiped the drying blood from her nose, he glanced at her red cheek in concern, but she looked down at her wrapped feet instead. Sansa could hear Littlefinger telling the maids to clean her chambers and not ask questions then there was a guard posted outside her door. She was not allowed to leave her chambers under any circumstances. She could feel Alayne shaking in anger inside her, at both the treatment and the new cage they were placed in.

There was at one point she heard Jon outside her door, demanding to know what happened then demanding to be allowed to speak to her, but it was to no avail. Sansa pressed herself against the wooden door, listening to Jon trying to reason with the guard before Littlefinger appeared to speak with him, eventually their voices grew smaller and smaller as they walked away from her door. Tears came down her cheeks as she pawed at the wood, wishing for Jon to come back to her.

Though Alayne could not do much of anything, she helped soothe Sansa in their pain. Sansa appreciated the effort from her, truly appreciated being able to feel Alayne rather than suspect when a day went by and she had no idea what happened. She was more like a guardian angel in that respect and they both seemed to like it more that way too.

Petyr came back to bring her meals, talking to her about the upcoming betrothal and the rumors being said about her damaged chambers. “It seems a rumor has gone around that someone had tried to take your virtue, but you fought them back. Sir Harry is very worried about you, wishing to speak with you, but I kept him at bay for now. I think he might come speak to me later about announcing the betrothal as soon as possible so he may have his bride intact, so to speak.”

Sansa nodded as she played around with her food. She managed to force a bite or two into her mouth, but it tasted like ash and made her stomach gurgle painfully after she swallowed. She kept her gaze on her food, avoiding looking at him at all cost. If the food made her stomach upset, then Littlefinger made her positively sick. She could feel his eyes on her, watching her and that only made the feeling worse.

“The Lord Commander came by earlier,” he started, probably in hopes that it’ll bring her eyes upon him, but she refused. “He seemed rather angry when he was denied access to speak with you, even when I took him aside to explain the situation he seemed to not listen. Jon Snow seems…quite enamored with you, my dear.”

Sansa said nothing, merely forcing another bite into her mouth. She knew he was growing frustrated with her and she hadn’t a care in the world for it, allow him to be mad, she was furious with him in return. Finally, a sigh left his lips and he got up from her vanity stool that he placed in front of her as she ate on her bed.

“Until you learn how to hold a conversation, dear daughter, then you shall remain here in your chambers until further notice.” She bit her tongue from retorting back, feeling Alayne trying to push her to say something, he’d leave soon if she held her tongue though, she explained. But telling him off would feel better, Alayne muttered back.

She set aside her food when he left, curling up into a ball on her bed as she listened to the silence around her. Sansa missed Jon so much, he was to leave the day after tomorrow and as she had told him before, she couldn’t leave. She was trapped, both figuratively and literally. Alayne protested though, telling her that Jon would come to save them, that he wouldn’t let a locked door and guard deter him from coming for her. Her words helped to keep the debilitating depression at bay, to make it easier to breath in her literal cage that was her chambers.

At some point she fell asleep because she was being shook awake suddenly. Sansa blinked back the sleep from her eyes, forcing herself to the waking world to find a dark shadow looming over her. Her mouth opened to shout, but a hand came over her mouth quickly as a whispered, “Sansa, it’s me,” halted the screech in her lungs.

“Jon,” she mumbled against his hand, pressing a kiss to his palm before he removed it. He seated himself on her bed as she sat up then lit a candle by her nightstand, so she could make him out better. Seeing his eyes and face, seeing him right there before her, she couldn’t help but launch herself at him.

Jon easily cradled her on his lap, closing his arms around her back to keep her close to him as he buried his face into her shoulder and neck. “I missed you,” Sansa admitted softly, nuzzling the side of his head.

“And I, you, my sweet girl,” Jon answered in his gruff voice, muffled in her skin as he pressed a kiss there.

“How did you get in?” Sansa suddenly remembered that her door was barred, and a guard was posted outside it. She pulled back to peer into his eyes.

“I may have gotten the guard to leave your door for a few hours,” Jon stated with a smirk, bringing forth a smile to her lips. “I may have a way to get you out of here for good. I’ve been speaking to Lord Royce a lot since I have arrived here, he has made his dislike of Baelish loudly heard. I think I can get him to rise up against him especially if I can prove he’s kidnapped Lord Eddard Stark’s eldest daughter and heir to Winterfell.”

Sansa frowned at his words, they sounded too good to be true. “But I am wanted for murder of the King of the Seven Kingdoms, Jon! What if someone has means to sell me back to the Lannisters? Not to mention that Petyr has brokered a marriage between me and Harry Hardyng.”

“I know,” Jon said grimly. “He made it very clear when he took me aside today that I would have no more interaction with you, that you are a spoken for woman and I am needed to remember my place and title.” He spat out the words like poison, his mouth screwed into a deeply set frown that she did not like seeing on his face especially his lovely lips. “Though I don’t know how he could when it hasn’t been determined if Lord Tyrion Lannister is dead or alive yet.”

“He has a forged paper from the High Septon stating that I am a maiden and that he has annulled my marriage to Tyrion.” Jon’s shoulders immediately tensed at her words, so she started to massage them. Sansa hated the look on his face, she wished it would go away. He looked away from her for a moment in thought then grunted. She followed his line of sight to see it set on her vanity, the wood chipped with a broken leg and the mirror completely gone from the holder.

“What happened here this morning? Were you truly attacked?” Jon asked as his eyes came back to hers, searching her for answers. The reaction that Petyr had made her warily to tell him the truth, even Alayne felt the same way, but she couldn’t very well lie either.

Swallowing fearfully, she said, “No, I…was having mental issues, I…Alayne…”

“It’s alright, I understand,” Jon finished, pulling her back into his chest. But do you really, she wondered, do you really understand, or are you just sparing me the pain of telling you the truth? Either way, she took the comfort he provided to her. If he said he understood, then Sansa was willing to let it go and believe so.

The smell of leather and wood in his clothes soothed her while also bringing forth a heat of arousal through her body. The feeling of his strong body pressed tightly against hers also stirred that heat, Sansa could feel the throb between her legs and if she wasn’t mistaking, she could also feel something hard poking at her hip. Pulling away from his chest, Sansa looked into Jon’s darken eyes then leaned into him for a kiss.

It was strange with Alayne inside her the way she was, she could tell that Alayne was feeling Jon’s lips against hers the same way she was. Sansa could tell she was enjoying it as much as she was too. The feeling was quickly pushed to the back of her mind though as they kissed, tongues slipping through lips and hands pressing insistently against each other. Jon had a plan going and if that was anything to go by then he’d be staying in the Vale longer than intended, meaning she would have more time with him especially if he wanted to save her from Littlefinger, save her from her another unwanted betrothal. That knowledge brought a sense of ease in her and before long she was pulling his nightshirt over his head.

Jon helped her toss it aside then he was back to kissing her, merging their lips together, fusing them as one. Sansa relished the taste of his lips and tongue dancing along with hers, she relished the touch of his hot skin that bled into her nightgown. Though it had only been a day apart and yet she felt as though they had not seen each other for days on end. There was a hunger in their kisses that alighted wildfire inside her veins, warming her immensely.

As Jon worked her nightgown over her own head, Sansa realized that they had never done this in her chambers before, not even Alayne had let Jon come here and with good reason too. Her chambers lie only a few doors down from Petyr’s and Sweetrobin’s too. It was why she wasn’t surprised when he was the first to get to her that morning, surely, he had heard the ruckus a few doors down and through the walls. Sansa made sure to keep her moans low, grasping at Jon’s loose hair tightly in her fingers as he suckled at her revealed breasts and nipples. She moaned through thinned lips, mumbling his name.

While he was attending her swollen nipples, she moved to untangle her legs from her smallclothes, flinging them across the room carelessly, another pair to disappear in the night. Her hands then moved to his breeches, fingering the ties and dancing along his harden length to distract him from his attentions on her. Jon groaned into the valley of her breasts at her touch, holding her bare back with one hand while continuing to palm a breast with the other. Sansa smiled at the control she had over him, the control he gave up to her as she gripped his cock through his sleeping breeches to feel the solid rod wishing to escape the fabric it was trapped in.

Let me help you, Sansa thought humorously as she plucked at the ties to split his pants apart. She was surprised to find him with little less but his breeches as his cock peeked through the split, greeting her with a weeping tip that redden for attention from her. Alayne goaded her to touch his cock with her lips, telling her he’d like it. Sansa knew from Jon that Alayne had done such a thing before and with her whispering in her ear, it was hard to fight back the curiosity to see how well received she would be for doing such a thing, and so Sansa scooted off Jon’s lap, glancing at his curious stare before leaning down to flick her tongue against his weeping tip.

The salty taste shocked her though she shouldn’t be surprised at the taste, it was reminiscent of her own when Jon would kiss her after getting his own taste of her nether regions. She ran her tongue along the rim of his head, bringing a hand to pull down his foreskin to better reveal his cock’s head as Alayne whispered to her on what to do. Sansa wondered where she knew this but didn’t have a sense to ask as she tasted Jon’s cock. Some things were better left unasked…

Jon groaned her name deeply inside his chest, tugging her hair aside to better watch as her mouth moved to engulf his head. Her tongue wrapped around the spongy head of his cock, finding more and more salty slick leaking from his tip as her hand worked up and down his length. A sense of pride came over her at the sounds he made, the sounds that she was pulling out of him. It was different than when they coupled because Jon was finding his pleasure from her rather than with her, basing it on something she did for him than what they did for each other. It was heady and addicting and she wondered if this was why he enjoyed placing his mouth and tongue on her cunt if her reactions made it that much more enticing.

Alayne pressed her to descend upon his cock, to engulf more than just his head. Sansa tried but she gagged when he hit the back of her throat causing her to pull back to just his head again. Practice makes perfect, little lady, Alayne jokingly taunted, a shadow over her shoulder as she pleased her love. She moved to try again, but Jon was tugging roughly on her hair, forcing her to abandon her mission as she let his cock wetly drop from her mouth as he directed her back to his mouth. It became another kissing match between them while Jon worked his breeches off his legs to the floor then he was pushing her onto her back once more, but something in her pushed back.

A little wrestling was pursued between them before Jon relented and Sansa straddled his hips triumphantly. Her hands planted upon his chest as his rubbed circles into her hips all while gazing up at her lovingly. “You look beautiful up there, like a goddess sent to take me,” Jon muttered deeply, smoothing his hands up and down her sides.

“Do I?” Sansa questioned, moving to stand on her knees where his protruding cock flung up to press invitingly against her inner thigh. It left wet kisses of slick against her skin as it waited for it’s final destination.

“Aye, a Northern goddess with flame in your hair and ice in your veins. Every man would be stupid not to kneel to your beauty and wish to sup at your cunt as worship.” Sansa felt her cheeks heat at his words, when had Jon become so good at prose? It must be you, his muse, Alayne commented softly, a hint of glee in her tone.

“And yet, I only wish to have my cunt supped by you,” Sansa stated as she reached down to direct his cock to her entrance, her knees were growing warily of holding up her weight and she wished for the warm, filling presence of Jon’s cock inside her.

“Then you always will, I will make sure of that.” His vow warmed her as much as his cock as it stretched her entrance then easily slid inside her wet and soft muscles, caressing as it pressed inside her until she was fully seated on Jon’s lap with his cock snuggled inside.

Sansa had never been in this position before, seated on top of Jon with all her control she loved so much with him. He only ever took her as a wolf, or more recently on her back, she had never been so bold as to straddle him like this. I had, Alayne answered, directing her on grinding her hips so her nub would be brushed by his wiry hair. Then Sansa was bracing her hands on his chest, spreading her fingers through the hair there before she was moving up and down his cock. Her breasts bounced with the movement, nipples swollen and hard as they swung with the bouncing.

Jon’s eyes followed their movement, drifting between her eyes, her breasts, and her cunt where he could see exactly where his cock slid in and out of her, watching as her wetness lubricated and leaked from their coupling. Eventually he grew tired of watching, grew tired of allowing her to do all the work it seemed as he started to meet her downward thrusts, jolting her nerves and body as they met each time. Sansa moaned louder than she should, but it felt too good to not allow Jon to know.

His hands moved along her skin, ghosting over her thighs to her hips, her waist to her ribs and her breasts to her shoulders and back again, igniting little sparks of flames in his wake during each pass. Sansa clawed at his chest as the pressure in her abdomen build and build. Finally, his hands stopped with one gripping her hip while the other drifted through her own wiry hair to seek her throbbing nub. Sansa whined at the touch, stuttering in her movements as he pressed a rough thumb directly against the sensitive bundle, manipulating it to bring her more pleasure.

“That’s it,” he mumbled, “that’s it, sweet girl, my Northern goddess, find your pleasure.” Sansa clenched her teeth as she rode his cock faster and harder, getting closer and closer to that burst of stars behind her eyes and shivering nerves dancing underneath her skin.

“So close,” she mumbled to encourage his touch. Jon did not disappoint, pressing harder to her nub and meeting her hard-downward thrusts with punishingly hard upward thrusts. For a few delirious seconds Sansa thought they might fuse together with the way they met so harshly, she could feel his hip bones digging into her own, possibly leaving bruising marks behind and if so then she wouldn’t mind one bit.

Sansa came down once more with Jon swiping his thumb just right and the world was nothing but blaring stars and dancing nerves and white noise around her. She could feel her hips still moving, but the rest of her was zinging with her release, her arms locked in place on his chest kept her up as Jon bounced her on his cock, searching for his own release. As the deafening white noise ceased, she heard Jon’s groan of release, she felt his hot seed flooding her channel to race to her womb to take root and as she felt that she heard the shout.

Turning to her left Sansa took in Petyr standing at the door shouting as he took in her naked form seated on Jon’s lap with no mistake that his cock was lodged within her. Sansa was still recovering from her peak, but Jon was seemingly finished as he pulled her off his lap with a wet pop then he was yanking her sheet to cover her body as he stood by her bed in his own nakedness, no shame to be seen.

Three Eyrie guards came towards the door to take in the scene before them and quite the scene it was too, Sansa thought dreadfully as she clutched the sheet to her chest.

“What is the meaning of this!? You are a guest here, Lord Commander and under oath to remain celibate and…you took my daughter’s maidenhead!” Petyr screeched with a redden face and twisted mouth, his eyes though, they were darkened in hate as he stared Jon down.

“She is no daughter of yours, Petyr Baelish!” Jon growled back, his hands fisted tightly as he glared right back at him.

“Take him to the sky cells,” Petyr responded. The guards seemed reluctant, many of them having supped and joked with Jon and trained under his guidance too, but Petyr was their lord and they must follow his will.

Jon reacted first though, landing a solid punch on Petyr’s face before he was grabbed by the guards. Jon started shouting about Petyr’s violation of Alayne, telling the guards that her own father touches her. The poor guards didn’t know what to do, it seemed. Sansa struggled to think of something to say and diffuse the situation, to not let them take Jon away, but her mind was drawing blanks.

One guard holding Jon quickly handed him his breeches to put on while Petyr in his anger grabbed his sleeping shirt, flinging it at his face in disgust. Seeing how loosely dressed he was, fear gripped at her heart knowing that he might freeze to death out there. Sansa with the sheet held to her, ripped the rest of it from her bedding and ran to her dresser, yanking out a woolen cloak to toss at Jon as he was taken. His eyes met hers, grateful for her cloak but fearful for her wellbeing.

Sansa held her tears at bay as she watched him pulled from her chambers, his struggles starting anew as he told them to not leave her alone with Petyr. She watched as Jon disappeared beyond her door, his shouts echoing down the hall, truly she hoped the cloak helped. Her fears though laid with the way Petyr was watching her, staring at her like he had never seen the likes of her before.

“Leave us,” he said quietly, looking towards the remaining guard then to her again.

“But my lord, shouldn’t Maester Colemon look-LEAVE!” Petyr’s shout echoed loudly around the high ceiling of her chambers, drowning out the concerned voice of the guard who looked between them both, obviously paying some head to Jon’s words before his shoulders slumped and he left.

Littlefinger walked after the door, barring it from the inside. Sansa stomach dropped at the sight, swallowing drily as she realized she was stuck inside her chambers with him now. Alayne stood beside her though, a comforting hand on her shoulder while telling her to be strong.

After a moment of silence, Petyr slowly turned to Sansa, surveying her. “After everything I have done for you, the sacrifices, the lives and money, and this is how you repay me, Sansa?” he questioned tonelessly as though it was the calm before the storm. Sansa kept an ever-present watch on his movements as he started to walk slowly around her chambers while he spoke, “I saved you from King’s Landing, from a gruesome death of hanging or worse, torture by Cersei’s call. I clothed you, brought you here to what little family you have left and even plotting to get your home, Winterfell back and yet…”

He stopped walking as he reached her broken vanity, dancing his fingers across the wood in thought. Sansa slowly inched away from him, breathing slowly through her nose as she watched him. Her heart was pounding a mile-a-minute as she waited for the brewing storm to reach her, to consume her. She knew how vulnerable she was in this state, a white sheet hiding her nude body and locked inside a room with a man whom had made his wants very obvious to her. That fact that she had been proven to not be a maiden to him was like a lit powder keg just ready to blow at any moment.

“And yet,” he started again, twisting around swiftly to bore his stare on her, “you thank that care by-by sleeping with your brother, your own flesh and blood, Sansa! By the Seven, have you lost your mind?!” It was then a curl of his lips took over the cruel downward of his frown, giving him a rather thoughtful look. “I suppose considering what you told me earlier that surely you must be losing your sanity. It’s no matter though, I will convince Maester Colemon to vow you are a maiden or I will find a Maester who will and hopefully Harry will be drunk enough not to notice you don’t bleed, yes…”

Sansa moved a little from her bed, the sheet got caught on the side of the bed when she had moved for her cloak, so it only just covered her thatch of red curls from Petyr’s sight. As he thought over their predicament, his eyes followed the reveal of her thighs and legs. She knew by the way he seemed to become frozen like a stature that he noticed, the candlelight behind her with the moonlight drifting through her opened curtains. There was no way he would not notice the wet seed dripping down her inner thighs, she could see his eyes zeroing in on the slow trail it made.

Sansa clamped her thighs together best she could, but it was useless as Petyr glanced between her thighs to her eyes. “You little whore,” he mumbled disbelievingly, “you…you allowed him to spill inside you. You allowed your own brother to spill in you? My gods, Sansa!”

“I only did what you wanted me too,” Sansa finally said, digging her nails into the sheet at her chest. He looked at her with wide eyes and slacken mouth.

“I wanted you to get a marriage to Harry, not fuck your brother!” Sansa could feel Alayne beside her, feel her hand moving from her shoulder to grasp her hand tightly as they stood like an invisible united front. It was Alayne who opened her mouth to say, “Fuck Jon, fuck Harry…or fuck you?”

Petyr bristled at her tone, his lips flipping downward into a frown again. In his eyes there was a feral quality to them, a gleaming darkness that made her fearful all over again. His frown changed once more to a smirk that showed his teeth and Sansa stepped back once more. “Yes,” he considered, taking in the distance between them, “I suppose since you are most certainly not a maiden anymore and if you can clearly fuck your brother then you should have no qualms fucking your father.”

“You are not my father!” Sansa shouted angrily, twisting to run towards her barred door before Petyr could reach her. She felt a yank at her hair and a hand on her waist, so Sansa put all her weight into his gut, sending them both to the ground.

Sansa hit her nightstand knocking down the candle and any contents on it as it flipped onto its side. Petyr recovered quickly, grabbing her ankle and pulling her roughly towards him until he was on top of her. Sansa slapped him, but he seemed to barely feel it as he backhanded her equally as hard. The air was knocked from her lungs at the slap. Slightly dazed she could hear him mumbling about her body, marveling at her nude form as he touched her like she was his to own.

She tired dissuading his hands from touching her but she was once more slapped for her efforts. She could feel him pawing at her breasts, forcing her nipples to react then he was spreading her legs to peak between them. Sansa felt tears leak from her eyes as Alayne shouted at her to stop him, to continue to fight him, to not allow this disgusting man to violate her. Fight, Sansa, don’t stop fighting, Alayne ushered in her mind. Sansa glanced around her, trying to figure out what to do then her eyes settled on the Valyrian dagger he left her, just a few feet away.

The candlestick was closer though.

Sansa flinched at the intrusiveness of Petyr’s fingers in her cunt before grabbing the candlestick and slamming it hard against his head. He fell to the side of the bed and Sansa kicked at his body weight, inching closer to the dagger. Petyr reared back, calling her a bitch and a whore, his hand pulling back to slap her again, but Sansa managed to clutch the dagger.

She swung the blade back with her arm, the sheath coming off with ease and stopping Petyr’s blow as the sharp blade sliced right through the skin of his throat. Sansa cried out as blood sprayed upon her from the wound. She watched as he clutched at his throat, struggling to breath against the ripped opening. His blood covered her face and chest, soaking her in his life essence as he started to slowly die.

The dagger stayed tightly in her grasp as Petyr moaned and groaned his pain then slumped on the side of her bed before falling on top of her. Sansa cried at his weight and the wind knocked out of her, struggling as best as she could to get his weight off her. There was banging at her door, loud and rough as shouts were heard outside. Sansa screamed for help, begging for help until her door was broken through.

Everything happened so fast, Sansa could hardly keep up. Guards were pulling Petyr’s lifeless body off her, the thick covers of her bedding quickly placed upon her before lords of the Eyrie came to the scene. Maester Colemon pushed men out of his way to reach her, checking her over for wounds as questions were asked. Sansa couldn’t remember what she had said, she was still so dazed.

Alayne came forth for her, speaking through her mouth as best as she could, explaining that Petyr tried to rape her, and Jon stopped him, only for Petyr to use his title to send Jon to the sky cells and attempt again. The two guards that knew different seemed to keep their mouths shut as the third was nowhere to be seen. It was hard to fight for a man that attempted to rape his ‘daughter’. Sansa was taken from her chambers to another with a bath waiting to clean her.

She asked about Jon though before she left, begging the lords to release him before he froze. Sansa spent her bath worrying over Jon, worrying over his health. She kept her maids at bay, wishing to not be touched by anyone else. As she dunked under water, she allowed her tears to flow from her eyes before breaching the surface to continue to scrub Petyr’s filthy touch from her skin.

By the time Sansa was dried and clothed, she was nothing but nervous energy and aches and pains, asking endlessly if Jon was taken from the sky cells, but no one could produce an answer for her. When she was called to the throne room with the moon door, Sansa felt a sickness in her stomach. That only meant that Sweetrobin was awake and they were going to discuss what had happened. She followed the two guards in front of her, trying to ignore the glances from them.

When she entered she avoided the gazes of the lords and ladies. Harry Hardyng came forward to hold her, but Sansa sidestepped his attempt, flinching away from him as she made her way to the center of the room. Sweetrobin came down from his chair quickly, running to Sansa where she allowed him to fling his arms around her. He said he didn’t understand why Uncle Petyr tried to hurt her, that he was sorry that she was hurt at all.

Sansa wondered what was told to the little lord, she wondered what rumors would be spread now, but most of all she wondered where Jon was. “Please, my lord, Lord Commander Snow saved me, and he needn’t be stuck in the sky cells no longer.”

Sweetrobin pulled away with a frown then he was shouting, at the other guards and lords, stating that his guest should not be in the sky cells at all and bring him at once. He then grabbed a hold of her hand, tugging her up to his chair, waiting for her to sit in her usual spot before taking his. Sansa glanced around the room, taking in the eyes of all the lords and ladies watching her, wondering about the truth, wondering about the state of her virtue perhaps. She gave Harry a brief glance to see him staring her down then to Myranda who actually looked concerned for her, standing beside Lord Royce who had an equally concerned expression on his face.

It was when Jon was brought forward that Sansa couldn’t hold in her tears any longer. He looked cold in his bare feet and her cloak that was much too small for him. Before anyone could react, before Sweetrobin could inquire his health as she had taught him, before she had properly breathed, Sansa was running down the steps to him.

She captured him in her embrace, locking her arms around his neck as Jon pulled her into his arms. He was so cold that it was overriding her warmth, seeping through her woolen dress easily. Sansa didn’t care who was watching as she held him to her, trying to force her warmth into him. As she held Jon, her mind wondered through the journey she went through to get here, the journey she went through to be here with Jon.

Petyr, Alayne, Sweetrobin, Harry, Myranda, Maester Colemon…

So many people, some standing beside her and many standing in her way. With so much going on, it was hard to pinpoint who she truly was, she knew who Alayne thought she was, she knew who Petyr thought she was and Harry, Myranda and even Jon, but it had taken her so long to realize who she truly was anymore.

I know who I am now, truly. I’m Sansa Stark. I’m Alayne Stone. I’m nobody and somebody. I’m a Stark and I’ll always be a Stark and…

Sansa cradled Jon’s head to her chest.

And I’m not alone…

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And if it seems like the ending is a bit lackluster and feels incomplete well...it is. Because I will be continuing this story in a sequel called, "Who are we?" 
> 
> I know, I know! But when I finally figured out how I would end the story back at around chapter 4, I realized that it left a lot of things unsaid with many loose ends, and really it brought up more angst and possibilities to run along the canon storyline. So I will be doing a sequel for the story, but it won't be for a bit because of other stories that need finishing and because I will be participating in 'Dark!Jon event' this coming weekend and 'Summer 2018 Smut Week' at the end of the month too. Not to mention I don't entirely have the story planned, so I need some time to do that too.
> 
> Now this chapter...man oh man...I always intended for Alayne and Sansa to have a final fight between each other where Sansa succeeds in the end, but since I had made Alayne a sympathy character not only to y'all, but to myself, I just couldn't make her disappear forever and so tada! I think that came out better than I thought too, Alayne as her little shoulder angel and all, I hope y'all liked that bit. Then there is the whole Petyr situation at the end. In the original oneshot plot, it was Jon who came to find Sansa after the inner fight and they had sex then Petyr catches them and sends Jon packing for the North and Sansa would kill Petyr, bathe and use the soap for her hair and go to Jon before he leaves thus the whole he realizes who she is and stuff. As you can tell, things got switched around because it didn't make sense for Jon to find her first after that ruckus and I find it hard to believe she could convince him to have sex after that either, lol. If the writer is not convinced then the audience wont be either. Then when I decided to do the sequel I realized all the loose ends that will get tied up and that extended to what happens in the end.
> 
> Anywho, (sorry I wrote a lot in this end note) I hope y'all enjoyed this final installment of this story. I will work on the plotline for 'Who are we?' as I finish up my other commitments, but things might start running slower with Fall semester coming up and all. I also wanted to say I will be putting 'Time' on a hiatus right now because, honestly I'm so not interested in the story as I once was and I know that will make some of y'all sad, but I need to place my attention where I want it and inspiration where it comes and that story is just not one of them, though that doesn't mean I won't periodically work on it. Okay, okay! Thank you so much for reading and please let me know whatcha think!? ^_~


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